The Progeny
by Orionali
Summary: Nine years have passed since the downfall of the dreaded Lords of Shadow. The Brotherhood of Light raised and nurtured the offspring of the one had dethroned them, Trevor Belmont, as one of their own, in hopes of defeating the evil that had ascended in their wake. But they are yet to understand the futility of their quest.
1. Prologue

'**Ello, once more, and welcome to this extensive Alternative Universe to **_**Lords of Shadow 1 **_**as****well as **_**Mirror of Fate**_**. This AU has been in our minds for a while now and I have, ahem, coaxed my co-author to post it here. Please, keep in mind that this fic was/is written in a form of roleplay responses - we will be juggling PoVs as well as introducing a bunch of OCs and story elements. **

_Rei here, Ali's co-writer in this crazy au fic we've made. Apparently she's been going on about it in the notes for Rebirth? _**Yes, I've been. **_Well, now we're sharing. The prologue was actually written just for this-we thought it might be a good idea to give a bit of backstory. Hope you all enjoy the ride!_

_Year of Our Lord, September 1056. Wygol Village_

Fire. Fire surrounded him, cutting off all hopes of escape. Outside he could hear the screams of the townsfolk, and the jeering calls of the monsters that hunted them.

How had this happened? The castle had been abandoned after its lord had fallen. He remembered, vaguely, the coming of God's Savior-the night so similar to this one, where the village burned as the vampires picked and chose their meals.

He had weathered that night in this very basement, shut in with his old grandmother and little sister, whimpering and waiting for it to be over. The door was barred with the thickest plank they could find, and decorated with rosaries-much like it was now.

How had this happened? The Brotherhood of Light had sent troops to keep them safe from what few vampires remained in the area. The snows had finally, finally thawed, and they had started planting crops, and the harvest had looked so, so promising-

And now this. What had they done, to deserve such misfortune? The people of Wygol were simple folk, who did their utmost to keep to the Lord's commandments and follow His teachings. Why, then, were they the ones to suffer from this plague? What had they done to call this image of hell to their doorstep?

He would never have an answer, it seemed. Still, he was confident he could wait out this storm, as he had the last one-none of the foul creatures had seemed to notice the hiding spot he and his family had chosen-in fact, they seemed to be moving away, perhaps it would soon be over and they would be able to flee for safer cities-

And then the door burst inward.

All of those hiding in that small basement shrieked, even as soft, even footsteps brought a vampire into their midst. How had the creature done it? The door had been soaked in holy water, had a cross carved into it, blessed to give shelter to those in need. How could a creature of the depths even lay a finger upon it, much less snap it in twain as if it were no more than tinder?

And its appearance, oh God. It was wrapped in tatters – bits of what had once might have been a curtain or a moth-eaten tapestry fabric. Bandages covered just about all of its facial features, save for several gaps reserved for eyes and mouth, respectively. Hideous, birdlike claws gleamed in the trailing moonlight with an eerie red glow.

What followed was a nightmare. His brother-in-law charged the monster, wielding nothing more than a thick club, shouting something-but the monster simply knocked his make-shift weapon from his hands and hoisted him from the ground. Red eyes paused to look over the man for but a moment, and then the foul creature had buried its fangs into his throat.

Within moments, naught was left but a dry husk.

He tried to fight, to protect his family. He had smuggled a blade down here, and he took a swipe while the creature was still preoccupied with feeding, trying to bury the thing in its black heart.

The vampire merely gripped him by the throat, lifted him from his feet, and laughed.

And then it made him watch as the rest of his family was butchered. More vampires, lesser than this creature, swarmed in and dragged them away, even as they screamed and begged for their lives.

He tried to fight, but he could barely keep himself aware of his surroundings, for the cold claws around his throat refused to let him struggle as he would have liked to.

Finally he was tossed aside, like he were nothing more than a doll, and he coughed and hacked through the pain and turned to glare up at the foul creature with all the hate in his heart.

It did not bother the beast. If anything, it only seemed to amuse it.

"Impious fiend," he barked at the creature, even as he spat blood, "God's Savior will see you pay for your sins!"

That only seemed to amuse the monster more. It started to laugh, a deep, mocking laughter, even as it sneered and stepped closer.

"God's Savior, you say? Will His chosen one come and deliver swift judgment? Would His champion arrive to condemn me?" The very thought seemed to be endlessly entertaining to the beast.

"Aye. Laugh while ye can, unholy one, for your time is coming!"

"Oh? But God's Savior is dead. He died like a dog-at my hands."

A new hate entered the man's heart. How dare this creature say such a thing? True or not, to so brazenly mock the blessed soldier that had saved him, his kin, his home, from darkness eight years ago...

"You will be hunted down for it is your _fate!_ The Savior's blood lives on!" He coughed on another glob of blood, and then continued to snarl at the vampire. "Even if I leave for the heavenly gates, his son will avenge us all!"

There was a pause, a deep silence as those red eyes regarded him. They seemed blank, as if the words that had been spoken were unbelievable. That gave him bravado. The creature could know fear after all!

"There is no son!" A low, guttural hiss fled its throat.

"There is! I have seen him! Even now he is being trained in the art! He will slay you and your foul kin, beast! Mark my words, you _will_ fall by his hand!"

Silence, again, but less shocked and more calculating this time, as those dots of hellish crimson followed his every movement. The creature sneered, a cruel, vicious grin, and stepped forwards-

and then its foot came down on his knee, and the man was screaming in agony. Cold claws gripped at his scalp, and he was hoisted into the air until he was face-to-face with the nightmare that was burning his home.

"And now… You're going to tell me everything you know of this..._boy_."

Mustering all of his strength, he retched and spat in the creature's face.

That coxed a sadistic smile onto its features, fangs glinting in the light of the burning village. Its hand fled to its face to wipe it clean, but the the titanic grip around his head did not slacken. "Is that your answer? Very well. We've plenty of time until the sun rises..." And a second set of claws gripped his shattered kneecap and pulled, tearing bone away from flesh.

"I think I will take the time to enjoy it."


	2. Chapter 1: Blood

__Rei again-I know Ali already warned you that this was originally an rp thread, but I think I'm going to reiterate that point-we bounce between Drac and Trevor's povs regularly, with the occasional oc pov in there as well. Hopefully it's not too hard to follow-we try to be clear about who we're following at that point. Also, I hope you like ocs, because we're about to dump a bunch of them on you.__

* * *

-|{D}|-

_Year of Our Lord, 2nd of June 1058. Brotherhood of Light Compound "The Radiant Heart"_

An icy draft whistled through the crack in the shutters.

Trevor Belmont's godfather, Augustus Cresces, jolted with a curse. A devoted man of God wouldn't commit such a thing, but he couldn't help it. The taxing sentry duty would make anyone want to catch some shuteye. And these abnormally cold nights. During the early-summer festivities, no less! What kind of witchcraft was this? Was God putting them through another test? If this hellish weather kept up, the crops would surely die, but Augustus was not all that bothered. They had enough grain stashed away to feed the entire compound for a while.

The latch on the shutters gave a loud creak and came off. Augustus let out an exasperated sigh, kicking the woolen covers off of his body and shifting his form into a sitting position. Rubbing at his eyes, the soldier stood up with full intention on sealing the damn window shut. The sound of wood beating against the stone walls made him shudder.

He closed the shutters, fingers pawing at the latch. Oh, great. The clasp was nowhere in sight and the surrounding gloom did not help him in the slightest. Augustus reached out for the flint and tinder stored in one of the chest of drawers, and moments later, a welcoming flame flickered into existence and onto the wick of a candle.

Immediately, the weak light illuminated the knight's room, highlighting the details. His bed, a table and a stool nearby, his trusty bastard sword resting against it, a cabinet and…

Augustus' breath froze in his throat as he lay his eyes on a humanoid figure in the corner. What the… He fought off the shock and grabbed his weapon, pointing the blade at the unexpected visitor. It took him a few moments to realize that the face he was staring into was a familiar one.

"G-Gabriel?" the knight stammered, recoiling in surprise. "You're alive?!"

"Sorry if I frightened you," Gabriel whispered hoarsely, "but I needed to talk to you alone."

"Wha— Frightened? We thought you were dead!" Augustus sheathed his sword and and gave his friend a wide-eyed stare. "Where have you been?"

"I needed some alone time. To think things over." His lips pressed together in a slight grimace.

"Okay, not unheard of, but how did you get into my room?"

"Your door was unlocked."

Augustus' brow knit into a frown. He was sure he had locked it tight. How did Gabriel manage to slip through? And in the middle of the night as well? He peered into his friend's face, cautious. Those same blue eyes, tanned skin, long disheveled hair, a few new wrinkles near the edges of his lips and eyes. The soldier's hand traveled to his chest – the small crucifix strapped around his neck remained as cold as ever. It was obvious. Gabriel looked tired and haggard, but otherwise alive and healthy.

His friend's getup on the other hand– the soldier blinked. It could only be described as a rich crimson overcoat trimmed with gold, intricate armguards and a scary-looking belt with an ornate skull inlaid in its center. Still the most freakish thing about it was that he wore absolutely nothing beneath that coat, leaving his chest exposed. Almost as if he was baiting someone into trying and plunging a blade in-between his ribs.

The soldier scratched his ear. "Um, pal, what exactly are you wearing?"

"What?" The man looked himself over, and August swore he heard a gruff 'goddammit.' When Gabriel straightened up, there was a look of profound annoyance apparent on his face. "I forgot to change."

"Oh! Well, I shouldn't be surprised, really. You sometimes forget to eat, too." Augustus relaxed his stiff muscles. "Sorry about that. About the sword. I just had to be sure. With all those rumors regarding our enemies, I had to make you sure you were not infected."

"What rumors?" Gabriel asked.

"There's a word that a powerful vampire is setting out to wage a war against the Brotherhood. It can't be worse than the vampire queen and her ilk, now can it?"

His friend shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm not an expert. At any rate, I wanted to have a talk and couldn't risk being spotted by the sentinels or worse, eavesdropped. That's why I sneaked through. Thanks for not kicking up a fuss about it."

Augustus planked himself onto his bed. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. You're a bloody hero, remember? You've destroyed the Dark Lords."

Gabriel sneered. "I wouldn't consider this incident a victory. A foolish errand, maybe," he said, taking a seat behind the table.

"Why? What happened? I thought-"

He stared down at his hands. "Marie was there, by the Lake, a phantom. But I failed. I couldn't bring her back."

Augustus' shoulders drooped. "Oh. I'm so sorry. I had honestly hoped you'd succeed."

"I saw her, August, I spoke to her. But in the end she preferred Heaven over me. I couldn't stomach it, so I wandered the land, a shadow of my former self. But after some soul-searching, I've decided to pay the Brotherhood a visit."

"That would explain your disappearance," the soldier said, "but, you know, that was a sound decision. There's someone here who'd been hoping you'd return."

Gabriel flashed a quick smile. "I know about Trevor."

"You do?"

"Aye. Actually, that's why I'm here. I came to take him home."

"Hold your horses, pal. First you'll need to convince him you are indeed who he thinks you are. Trevor... the lad doesn't believe in miracles."

He rolled his eyes. "Can't say I blame him. Mind telling me where he is?"

"It's curfew, so I reckon in his bed. Squires' quarters, fourth floor, third door from the right."

His friend got up. "Thanks, August. I knew I could count on you even after all these years."

"It ain't the first time you woke me up in the middle of the night with life-changing news." He yawned. "Either way, happy reunions can wait till morning. The whole stronghold's asleep and it's been a long day." Augustus scowled at nothing. "I've been kicked upstairs."

"Oh?"

"Yup, some months ago. I'm a crusader now. I don't like it, it's pulling me and Jossie apart."

"You can come with me, if you want."

"Come wi- What?"

"I want to make up for my absence." A rather silly grin creased Gabriel's mouth. "I've been watching both you and Trevor for some time now and I know you had kept your promise. The one you made right before I left for the Lake of Oblivion." His smile grew. "You've taken care of my son."

"Kinda, yeah." Augustus couldn't help but preen. "Got into a snit with the Elders over it, but I pitched in where and when I coul-" He faltered. "Wait, what d'you mean you've been watching us? How? Why?"

Another dismissive shrug. "I'd get a crossbow bolt in-between my eyes otherwise."

"What are you talking about? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No-no," he answered, "it's nothing to be concerned about." Gabriel walked up to the door and leaned against it, arms folded. "What I meant is that the Elders, and Volpe in particular, will not give Trevor up. Not without putting up a bit of a struggle first."

Augustus gawked back and carefully got up to his feet. His clammy hand gripped around the hilt of his sword. Gabriel did not move a muscle, yet the bleakness of his gaze unnerved the soldier. He glanced at the window and licked his scarred lip. Too high. "What do you want from me, Gabe?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

To his sheer surprise, his friend bristled and his eyes flared with alien fire. "Don't say that name."

"Um." Shock overrode August's fear. "But that's your name."

"Not anymore."

Before the soldier could react, Gabriel lunged and landed a strong punch right above his stomach. The crushing pain stung Augustus unexpectedly, making his vision blur. The man doubled over, bile rising into his mouth.

Through the daze, he tried to brandish his weapon, but Gabriel disarmed him in one swipe, wringing his arm and causing Augustus to let out a yelp. His shoulder socket burned, sinews strained to the point of snapping, but even through that heat he could feel the deathly chill surface through… the chill of his friend's hands. Two crimson dots smoked in the darkness around him like burning coals as the poor soldier watched with an overwhelming sense of dread as Gabriel's canine teeth lengthened into vicious predator-like fangs.

Realization cracked through his skull, and Augustus began to thrash, yell and call for help. He sought to alert the stronghold, take up arms, to warn that there was a creature of darkness in their midst. Alas, his captor had a different goal in mind.

His skin ripped as if it was paper and the heat hushed out every other thought. A thick, oily substance rushed into his mouth, swelling his being with an alien warmth. Before too long his agonized screams drowned in the bubbling liquid escaping his torn-out throat.

The soldier's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he felt no more.

-|{T}|-

The boy jolted awake, gasping for air and shuddering. Another nightmare—they were getting more prevalent, of late, and they were starting to be bothersome. One or two nights of missed sleep, here or there, was not unusual, but four or five in a row? Trevor wondered if he should seek help from the clerics. Perhaps they could bring him some peace. If nothing else, the elders liked to question him about strange dreams.

Sitting up, he drew the threadbare blanket around him, trying to stave off the chill of the air. It was far too cold to be the beginning of summer—this felt more like autumn, when the leaves were to begin falling and the harvest was to come in. It was unsettling, really—especially the way the older knights seemed perturbed by it. Like it were some foul omen.

Foul omens… Trevor had heard enough of them to last a lifetime of late. There were rumors whispered about them that a great evil was rising, though they never seemed to agree on what that evil was—a demon, a vampire, a dragon, a devil—all these titles and more were bandied about with abandon. Of course they silenced themselves around the children, but Trevor had always been prone to eavesdropping. Often it was the only way he could find out what was going on around him-he hated being kept in the dark.

Dark...it had been terribly dark in his dream, save for a pair of dancing blue flames. He couldn't make out much of the room he'd been in, just that there was a great throne, with a terrible figure seated within, one with a haunting stare that kept beckoning him to come closer-

Shaking his head to clear it, the boy gave up the notion of going back to sleep. He knew himself better—after a dream like that, he wasn't going to be able to keep his eyes shut long enough to drift off.

Tossing his blanket aside, he slid off the bed, blinking the weariness from his eyes. There at the small desk at his bedside lay his treasures, neatly lined up and well cared for. The magic mirror pendant—a memento of his mother, a baby blanket with embroidery done by Marie Belmont's hand, a small stuffed wolf—a gift from Augustus, his father's dear friend, and his combat cross, his weapon, and the only connection he had with his father.

Pausing a moment to look them over, he decided, quite suddenly, that he did not feel like waiting for the sun to rise alone in his room. Dressing by moonlight, Trevor soon found himself pushing his door open cautiously and peeking out to be sure there was no one to see him break curfew. Satisfied that he was alone in the hall, he slipped out and shut his door as silently as he could manage.

Pausing only a brief moment to consider his options, Trevor proceeded to dart down the hallway, heading towards Grant's room. Grant never minded being woken in the middle of the night—certainly half the time he was the one doing the waking—and was always interesting to talk to, if only to plan some prank or another. Perhaps, if they got bored, they'd go bother Adrian…or perhaps not. Time would tell.

Grant was, as he expected, perfectly willing to let him in, despite being only half awake. Trevor didn't mind. He mussed the boy's hair and they began chattering, plotting tricks to play on Isaac, jokes to tease Adrian with, that sort of thing. The pair laughed and talked, passing the night away, completely unaware of the murder that had occurred nearby in the compound, nor the slaughter that was coming.

To Trevor and Grant, it was just another night.

-|{D}|-

His speech was slurred, indecipherable almost. But with enough time and patience, Augustus managed to lisp exactly what he needed to know, but by the end of his tale, the transformed soldier was crying and sobbing with pain. His entire body was covered in furrows, disfigurements and a pair of large, leathery wings jutting out of his back did _not_ help. A foreseen permutation, but, nonetheless, an unpleasant one. Truly, his friend appeared nauseatingly similar to the mindless legions of the late queen. Dracul's eyebrows involuntarily climbed up.

"August, heed my words," he uttered softly. "Don't worry; the suffering will pass and you will understand. You will understand why I couldn't risk letting you stay here, beside the traitorous scum of the Brotherhood. Know that I did this for your own good."

Augustus' deformed head swayed from side to side and he gave a strangled sob. He raised his bloodshot eyes to look at the other vampire, a silent plea surging through their depths. _Kill me_, that plea screamed on the top of its lungs.

"No, I'm not going to kill you." He offered the soldier a meek smile. "We're still friends. You had my back throughout my previous life and I don't forget such loyalty easily. You well deserved this gift."

"Wh-what are you talking a-about?" Augustus nearly wailed. "This is n-no gift, it's a cur-curse, Gab—!"

"Erase that name from your mind, August," Dracul snapped. "That thing has _never _existed." He rose to his feet and watched as his friend heaved himself off the floor as well. "You _will_ learn and you _will_ accept this gift. Remember that. But now, I have a task for you to carry out."

The fledgling's entire body quivered – fear? pain? – but he remained silent.

"Make sure to herd all of the boy's friends into one spot. For easier access."

"I thought you were only taking the boy," Augustus managed weakly.

"Ripping him away from his dear friends would be too cruel, especially when they've replaced his lost parents." The elder ruminated a little. "And stay away from the knights, if some of them manage to slip through. I'd hate to lose you so shortly after our reunion, my friend."

"Slip through?"

"I've arrived here with more than one goal in mind. I am here to collect the debt the dwellers of this place owe me. A part of it, anyway." His grin became fanged.

* * *

The sentries stationed on the towers and walls of the stronghold proved to be an adequate first kill. Their emptied, dehydrated husks rolled off the fortress walls with a deafening clank, without a doubt, rousing the slumbering inhabitants. But the clamor made by the armor of the Brotherhood soldiers was not enough: the next oaf who dared to challenge him was impaled through the stomach with his void blade and hoisted into the air. The man's blared howl resonated across the courtyard. The vampire let his pained screams sink in, before witlessly dumping the dying man into the moat outside the stronghold walls.

Within a moment's notice, new soldiers, vanguards, recruits bearing holy water and crosses poured out of the barracks, hastily arming themselves with swords, spears and, sometimes, far less intricate weaponry. Dracul let one of squires come into range, effortlessly parried his clumsy attack, and in retaliation, plunged his fingers right into the boy's eye sockets. His pathetic screams were snuffed out by the blood streaming out of his crushed orbitals. The vampire ripped his hand out, leaving the squire's face a malformed mess of pulp and mucus.

His next attacker had his femur sliced off, the other lungs ripped out straight of his chest, the third reduced to brainless matter by the savage strikes of his whip. Everything, the blood... the agonized screeching, all contributed to his sensation of light-headed euphoria. Unable to hold back any longer, the vampire laughed, a powerful determined laugh as he tore out the throat of another soldier, only pausing to take a swig of the wonderful ichor. Ah, simply unforgettable.

Soaking the soil and stone alike in red, Dracul consciously approached the stronghold's compound. It was where the stream of suicidal warriors and dimwitted zealots began to die out and he managed to, without any further distraction, scale up the building, heading straight to the quarters Augustus had pinpointed him to. Trevor was here, his boy… he could feel his scent spilled through the stuffy air. Those bastards would not be able to keep him hidden any longer, for he arrived to take what was his by right.

-|{T}|-

At first, the pair of boys heard nothing of the swirling melee outside. It wasn't until the screaming started that they both froze, perking up, staring at the small window in Grant's tiny room. Dare they look?

They never got the chance to decide. The door was forced open, and in it stood a familiar face—Adrian, looking disheveled and angry, his beloved blade naked in his hands. He didn't seem surprised to find Trevor sitting in Grant's room, despite the curfew that was imposed on all the squires. In fact, he almost seemed relieved.

"We need to go. Now."

"Adrian? What's—"

"No time for questions! Get up and get moving,_ now!_"

The pair obeyed quickly—rising to their feet and bolting out the door and into the hallway, where the other squires were being herded towards the exit. Trevor could spy Hector's silver hair near the stairwell, directing some of the younger boys outside.

For a moment, the young Belmont sought to turn around and return to his own room, to arm himself and grab his things, but a firm hand on his upper arm stopped him.

"Trevor. We need to _go._"

"But—my cross!"

"Your life is more important, and the longer we stay here, the more likely you are to lose it! _Come on!_"

The urgency of his friend's voice was unmistakable, and Trevor knew better than to argue. Whatever was happening, it was enough to have Adrian frightened, and neither Trevor nor Grant had ever seen their older friend frightened. And, as if to emphasize Adrian's point, another round of screaming echoed from behind them, making the hair on the back of their necks stand on end.

Grabbing the younger orphan's hand, Trevor raced towards the stairs, where Hector was waving them down. They were one of the last ones out—Adrian stayed behind to make sure the remaining boys followed, and Hector to cover him.

A familiar shock of red hair was before him, and Trevor couldn't help but pull Grant towards it. Despite their rivalry, Isaac and Trevor both knew that now was not the time for petty disputes, and so when the younger pair caught up to the redhead, he merely nodded in acknowledgement of their presence.

"Do you know what's happening?"

"There's screaming, and lots of it. Apparently something got inside, so now they want us _out._"

"The townsfolk are also being evacuated, whilst the knights arm themselves and prepare a counter-strike. We're to join them in the mountains, and pray that whatever it is doesn't find us." Hector's voice drifted to them from behind, and a quick glance over his shoulder told Trevor that both Hector and Adrian had caught up, the two children that they had been waiting on with them. Both the older boys had blades in hand, and though Hector was speaking to them, he and Adrian both were casting glances around them, making sure they weren't being pursued. They were the rearguard, it seemed.

"The mountains? That's not-what if something else comes from the wilds?"

"Oh, they've thought_ that_ part through already," Isaac quipped, voice dry, "as soon as the screaming started, they sent out a messenger. Supposedly Commander Alajos is to reinforce us."

"Commander... Valeriy? But he's meeting with the elders, all the way at Dawndrift!" Trevor gasped as he tried to speak and run at the same time, giving his rival an incredulous look. "They'll not make it in time!"

"I told you they'd thought it through," Isaac drawled in response, the sarcasm thick enough to cut with a blade.

Ahead, Trevor could see the kitchen staff, the maids, the healers and clerics all join the fleeing squires. Behind, only screaming, and the sick crunch of torn flesh echoed.

At least, until the laughter started.

Loud and deranged, it nearly made the lot of them freeze in terror. As it was, the desire to get _away _from whatever was causing the mayhem was enough to keep their feet moving, though Grant stumbled and would have fallen had Trevor not been all but dragging him along.

Fear made them swifter, though they could only pray that they were swift enough. They were almost to the side gates—they'd meet the villagers outside and head to the forest from there.

-|{D}|-

The heavy oaken door crashed open, nearly coming off its hinges from the sheer impact. The vampire strode into the room, dragging a writhing youngster in the darkened Brotherhood armor alongside him. The youth squirmed helplessly, hollow whimpers and sobs escaping his mouth, distorting whatever coherent words he tried to let out. His pitiful pleas for mercy irritated his captor to no end, but, to his utter distaste, he needed him alive. For now.

All the signs… a plush wolf, a blanket embroidered with silver thread, and, finally, a small replica of the Brotherhood's signature weapon, the combat cross… all proved that Trevor indeed was in this room not long ago. Now, the boy was – quite understandably – missing, his bed unmade, and his footwear gone.

Dracul narrowed his eyes. A second later, the youth's uncovered head was smashed against the bedpost, and the soldier let out a torturous scream which echoed across the entire hold.

The vampire lifted the half-comatose would-be squire to his eye level. "Where has he gone?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "What escape passage is he taking?"

The squire sputtered out incomprehensible babble, drool together with blood seeping out of his mouth. Dracul gave him a few seconds, before hurling the soldier into the nearby wall. The clatter of his armor overpowered any other noise, yet he could clearly hear his bones splinter and crack. The soldier's body slumped, a bulge on his head sprouting in a grotesque fashion.

The Dragon did not honor the squire with a glance – he had more important matters to attend to. He paced down a flight of steps; a few knights blocked his path, but did not last very long. Their decapitated heads continued to roll down the spiral staircase, leaving a crimson path in their wake. Those who witnessed the deed beat a hasty retreat, yet even those cowering in fear or trying to flee were not spared. Their mangled limbs and bodies littered the corridor, drowning in the sea of red and leaving their intoxicating scent spilled through the air.

Whilst devouring the lifeblood of the compound's cook, Dracul noticed a group of young boys in the distance, scooting away from the rasping wheezes of the dying. The two squires in the back – they couldn't be more than sixteen – brandished their weapons as they caught sight of him. From the corner of his eye he could see Augustus stalk the party from the other side, cutting any means of their escape. His arrival could mean only one thing… The timing couldn't be more perfect.

But the vampire lord paid no attention to him, or the squires, or their meager weaponry, or his comrade-in-arms… A boy of about eleven years old with unruly chestnut hair huddled just beside the two teenagers dominated his mind. His pale blue eyes – a hue so similar to Marie's – flickered like a candle flame, creating a sharp contrast against the encircling gloom.

_Trevor. _The vampire let a husk of the woman's body drop from his grip.

-|{T}|-

They'd cleared the wall, and they could see the greater group of refugees in the distance—the townsfolk, the healers, the servants, the other boys—and beyond them, the cover of the trees. Perhaps the forest was not the best place they could hope to hide, but it was the only real hope they had. Not much of a hope at all, Trevor couldn't help but think, though he kept the thought to himself. Grant was shaking beside him, the younger boy's grip on Trevor hand tight and white-knuckled, and Trevor knew that if he allowed himself to despair, it would break his friend. He couldn't do that—Grant was the little one, the closest he had to a brother. Trevor couldn't let him down.

He wished, now, that he had his cross in hand, if only for the feeling of protection it gave him.

No time for wishes, though—he needed to focus on getting out alive, and getting Grant out alive. Isaac ran beside him, panting, swearing under his breath—was he cursing the fact that he could not see his beloved sister in the crowd? The attacks had apparently started in the fortress, so perhaps he was lucky, and she was safe. If any of them could be called safe.

A gut-churning scream echoed from behind them, pushing them onward. More followed, the sounds of those dying in agony, and Trevor wished, for a moment, that he were deaf, if only the sound would not reach him.

Still, his hearing was a boon, for as the screams died he heard the sound of leathery wings on the air. Snapping his gaze upwards, he spied a hellish looking creature in the night air—a bat's wings, and he thought he saw pinpoints of crimson, wouldn't that make it a vampire?—moving to cut off their escape. He and Isaac were both unarmed, and Grant was certainly in no state to defend himself, so they would be an easy meal if they were caught. With a wordless cry, he skidded to a stop, his free hand grabbing Isaac's arm and pulling him to a stop as well. The redhead looked like he was about to punch Trevor for holding him up, but once he saw where the boy was looking, he grimaced—the look of one who knows they are outmatched, and cannot see a way out.

Adrian and Hector caught up to them shortly, and the blond would have snapped at them, had Isaac not pointed the vampire out.

As it were, the pair of older boys exchanged a brief glance, before looking over their shoulders—Trevor could not keep himself from turning as well, and he regretted it immediately.

He could make out no details, just a silhouette of crimson and black, staring at them with haunting eyes. Something was tossed from the thing's hands—it almost looked like it was a _person_, and Trevor had to fight back the taste of bile—and whatever it was, it began to stalk forwards.

He could have been imagining it, but Trevor would have sworn, in that moment, that vampire—for what else could it be, but a vampire?—was leveling that hellish glare at_ him._

"We split up," Hector's voice cut through the stupor he'd been in, and Trevor's head snapped back to stare at the silver-haired squire.

"What?"

"Isaac will come with me, you and Grant stay with Adrian. The one between us and the forest is a lesser vampire—we've more hope facing it. It can only go after one group, so the other will be clear to escape."

Adrian nodded, and began to pull Trevor away. "Hurry. Before the other one catches up."

The little Belmont took one last glance at Hector and Isaac. The redhead nodded at him—a sort of farewell. Trevor managed to return the gesture before spinning on his heel and following Adrian at a dead run, dragging Grant along behind him. Hector and Isaac ran the opposite way, both groups angling towards the canopy of the trees. If nothing else, it offered more places to hide, and more obstacles between them and their hunters.

Adrian placed himself quite pointedly between the younger boys and the lesser vampire, his blade still in hand. "If it charges us, I'll fend it off. You get Grant into the forest and get away. No looking back, you understand me?"

Trevor couldn't find the words. Grant found some instead. "But, Adrian, if they catch ya, you'll—!"

"No protesting, Grant! You know better than to argue with me!" It was a snapped response which brooked no arguments—a commander's tone. _Adrian would have made a good captain one day,_Trevor mused, before he managed to nod.

"Don't…don't tarry too long with the vampire, alright? You need to meet up with us again."

A foolish statement. The three of them well knew that if Adrian stopped to duel the vampire, it was unlikely he would survive. Even if he could slay the one beast, the other would be upon him before he would be able to react. He would buy them seconds, at best. But none of these children wanted to admit it, not to themselves, and certainly not to each other.

"I'll try not to keep you waiting," Adrian managed with a wry smile, "but I make no promises. You two will have quite the head start."

Grant tried to laugh. It came out as a sob.

And they continued to flee.

-|{D}|-

_Go after the redhead and the one with silver hair!_

He watched with scrutiny as Augustus' deformed visage twitched with conflicting emotions - he was resisting. He was _fighting,_ fighting against his master's will. The lesser vampire let out a screeching howl, scratched and bit at his own flesh, before finally collapsing to a motionless heap. How peculiar. So, that is the mental backlash a fledgling experiences when denying its master? Dracul did not feel sympathy towards his old friend's suffering; he brought this on himself. If he had followed simple orders, none of this would have happened. This pain was his punishment for disobedience.

Still, this inconvenience at best, made him lose precious time. The two squires slipped through his fingers and their forms dissolved under the thick canopy of trees. Moreover, one more obstacle – a pestering nuisance – obscured the path to his ultimate goal: a heavily-armored giant of a man shielded the remaining boys with his lumbering form. He carried a massive morning star in one hand, and a silver crucifix in the other.

"Run!" he bellowed at the kids behind his back as he brandished his weapon. "**Run**, I said!" He held out his cross and chanted in a breathy voice. "_We wave Christ and His holy blood! We are strong in the Lord and the power of His might!_"

No. Not again. The boy had been taken away from him once, he was not about to allow that a second time. Dracul felt his face contort into a vicious snarl as motes of red dust began to dance around his body.

"_The power of God is upon us!_" the warrior shouted and the crucifix began to glimmer with periwinkle light. "_l bring you from shadow into light!_"

Those traces of dust weaved themselves into a long, wiry being, one of smoke and embers. Shadows soared around its intangible form, muffling out the surrounding light. It opened its glistening maw where the infernal heat burned bright, letting out a maddening shriek which blared together with the enraged roar of its summoner. They would** pain**, they would know defeat, and **destruction**.

"_l cast you out, the Prince of Darkness…"_ the spectral dragon loomed above the chanting soldier, its gullet open wide. _"Into Hell!"_ Its jaws closed around the man's body, cleaving his torso in two. The ghostly apparition sprung its wiry neck, the upper half of the soldier's body still in its mouth.

Everything… gore, guts and something _more_… all ruptured in every direction, freckling the ground in a crimson carpet. The dragon chewed on the warrior's body, absorbing the ichor still left in his veins before spewing the disfigured soldier… or what was left of him aside. The remaining part of his body stood in one place for a few moments, before tumbling down like a stack of cards.

-|{T}|-

The shriek of the other vampire drew their attention, and as his gaze snapped to the side, Trevor wondered for a moment if he was about to see Isaac and Hector be ripped apart. The taste of bile was still strong in his throat, though he bit it back once more. Isaac and Trevor may have always fought and proclaimed to hate one another, but in truth, they still cared. Neither wanted to see real, permanent harm come to their rival. The thought of having to watch the redhead die…it was sickening.

And Hector! Hector had a fiance waiting for him, a lovely healer that treated everyone with kindness. What would become of Rosaly, if Hector fell? Trevor didn't want to consider it.

But, it seemed the pair were in luck—something stopped the lesser vampire from charging them, something took the creature to the ground, thrashing in agony. What sort of miracle was this? Whatever it was, Trevor couldn't help the sound of relief that escaped him when he saw Hector and Isaac vanish into the darkness of the trees. They, at least, had made it.

Which posed a problem, now—the three were the only remaining in sight, and the other vampire, undoubtedly the more powerful of the two, was closing in swiftly. Adrian was a fine swordsman, but he was no master, and certainly not among the greatest of mortal men. Even if he broke off to buy the younger ones time, it would be a heartbeat before he fell—if he was lucky.

And yet, there was another stroke of good fortune for them. A figure in armor crashed into the scene, demanding the three children run. Adrian's hand came to rest on his shoulder, shoving him forwards, but Trevor needed no encouragement. He merely continued to drag Grant along, sprinting faster than he'd ever believed himself capable of, heading for the line of trees. _So close._

Adrian shifted soon enough, taking Grant's other hand, and together the older two boys all but lifted the little orphan from his feet, pulling him after them as their longer strides carried them through the night.

They heard the prayer, and then something that sounded like an unearthly shriek—there were the trees. They had made it. Just as they crossed the threshold of the forest, Trevor heard Adrian call, "Don't look back!"

He did not need the order. Whatever was behind them, he could _feel_ it—cold and sinister, thirsting for blood. He didn't know what it was, and he did not _want_ to know. He did not want to _see._ He simply wanted to get as far away from whatever it was as fast as he possibly could.

The trio darted through the underbrush, without a care for the noise they were making. Perhaps, had their pursuer been human, they would have found a place to hide, to blend in with the shadows of the forest. Certainly they all had things that might give them away—Adrian's pale blond hair, Grant's bright crimson bandanna, Trevor's mirror pendant that always seemed to catch whatever meager light was in the air—but with enough care, they could mask those things, and go unseen.

Their pursuer was not, however, a mortal. Their pursuer was a creature that thrived in the deepest of nights, that could hear the breath in their lungs and the very beating of their hearts. There would be no hiding from it. Distance was their only friend, and their only hope. Distance, and the faraway dawn.

Still, this forest was as much a home to the three as the fortress they had fled from. They did not stumble or trip, despite the speed of their flight,instead moving like they were creatures of the wood themselves. Trevor and his friends had wandered these woods far too many times together to be foiled by them now. Though the obstacles slowed them, it was not by much.

In the distance, they could hear a sickening crunch—the sound of snapping bone and tearing flesh. They did not so much as glance behind them. They could not risk the delay.

The trio of boys continued to flee, Adrian and Trevor dragging along the tiring Grant as they made for the mountains.

-|{D}|-

"On your _feet!_" the master vampire growled, pulling the senseless fledgling off the ground. Augustus' body still twitched and convulsed with seemingly never-ending spasms, but, by now, he had ceased his snivelling and crying.

Normally, he'd get rid of such a worthless minion – a slave which dared to defy his will, no less! – but he decided against it. Augustus was a newborn, scared… disorientated, unaware of the power he now held. Dracul had experienced the same. And, more than anything, he couldn't kill his former friend; no matter how annoyed he might be, he valued loyalty – be that in past, or present – above anything else. Still, his displeasure had to be shown. His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh on Augustus' neck, and a choked scream left the soldier's throat.

"I'll let you go with a warning this time, August," Dracul hissed. "But disobey one more time and I'll be forced to discipline you." He loosened the grip and the soldier backed away, a mask of horror frozen on his misshapen face. "If you have such trouble with fetching the boys, very well, bring me the girls. Julia, Rosaly and Sypha, was it not?"

"But… b-but they," the soldier hiccuped, trembling. "They a-are with the rest of the refugees by now. How am I supposed to d-do that?"

"Draw them away. Distract the guards. Anything… but deliver them unharmed." He narrowed his eyes. "You don't want to disappoint me again." There, he allowed his gaze to soften a little. "You are about to find out just what exactly you can achieve with your newfound abilities. You go after the women, I'll take care of the boys. Now go!"

Augustus scuttled away, heading towards the southern edges of the forest. Yes, he appeared_ far_ more willing to collaborate now; just as he admitted that, the pain, set deep within his joints, abated. The elder vampire could see it from the way he carried himself.

Finding his quarry in this thick timberland would be an arduous task, just like searching for a needle in a haystack… but only if he were human. Still, while locating the kids was manageable, gathering them all into one area would require time, effort, and even the Lord of Darkness could not create doppelgangers of himself to carry out such a duty.

Dracul smiled to himself: then he would just have to herd them all, like a flock of sheep.

In a single flick, his occult talisman was crushed, the centuries-old scales within withering into ash. Immediately, with a warbled howl, he collapsed, feeling his bones, muscle, and sinew elongate, stretch, _deform_. His spinal vertebrae warped, skull skewed forward and his skin sprouted scaly, cinder-like feathers. The transformation quadrupled him in sheer size and soon the beast spread its shadowy wings. The Dragon raised his head as he let out a deafening guttural roar and took off.

Faintly, he could hear the horrified screams and howls of those left on earth. _It's a dragon!_ echoed in his ears and the vampire could not hold back a triumphant guffaw. The common folk believed for these kings of the sky to be extinct for uncounted millenniums, dead legends, only to witness one ascend before their very eyes. Ignorant simpletons.

He circled above the forest, burning gaze picking out the fear-stricken soldiers, women, and children, searching for the ones he sought most. Soon enough, he noticed the trio crossing a small fishing creek not far away from the main group of refugees. The redhead, together with the silver-haired squire, were heading towards them.

As soon as Isaac and Hector were in the vicinity, the Dragon swooped down and spat blobs of molten inferno around the party, forming a perfect circle. The flame quickly spread onto the treetops, bushes, and canopy alike, locking the boys into a ring of searing heat. It was large enough for them to breathe without a hitch, but not big enough for them to get away. Not again. Not anymore.

Noting their whereabouts, the scaly beast landed heavily inside the ring, blocking the only way to the creek. Eyes focused on the boys, and especially his own son, the vampire's rough hide melted away to reveal the more human aspects of his appearance. Dracul cracked a smile to the sound of raging fire around them all.

-|{T}|-

They barely noticed the coolness of the stream, nor the chill of the night air. All that mattered was that they kept going. Lungs burning and legs aching, Trevor had to force himself to keep moving—which wasn't actually a difficult task, considering that behind him lay a walking nightmare. The horrible crunching sound could have well been the vampire breaking under the morning star of the warrior that had allowed them to flee—but somehow, Trevor doubted it. Something told him that was not to be.

He tried not to dwell on it.

They all froze at the sound of the roar, and they couldn't help but turn and stare up at the great dragon of shadow in the sky. Between the fire in its maw and the silver light of the moon, it was impossible to mistake its form.

"Please tell me I'm seeing things," Adrian muttered, sounding almost exasperated—as if he had exhausted all the fright in him and was now just severely unimpressed with their situation and nothing more. Without another word, he began to pull the younger two along once again, cursing quietly to himself at their lot.

The dragon simply hung in the sky, as if waiting for something. They could not imagine what, but so long as it was up there and not moving, they did not care. All they cared about was getting out of this nightmare.

It was Grant that spotted the other two first—he gave a shout of surprise at the silver of Hector's hair, though it turned into a relieved laugh in a heartbeat. Soon enough Hector and Isaac were running beside the trio once more, looking exhausted—and yet grateful to see familiar faces.

"Still dragging the runt around, Belmont?" Isaac managed to huff out between his panting breaths, and Trevor almost laughed at how normal the taunt sounded. How had this happened? They were all so scared, and yet they kept trying to pretend they weren't. As if denying their fear would somehow help them.

He couldn't help but respond in kind. "I should have known the vampires wouldn't attack you, not after seeing your face." It was a weak taunt, but it was all he had.

It appeared to be enough. Hector heaved an exaggerated sigh even as he ran, muttering, "Is now really the time?" but there was a smile on his face. Glancing over, he could see a similar one ghosting over Adrian's as well.

If this was to be their last moment together, Trevor found he'd rather they all be smiling. Perhaps that was why he could bring himself to joke.

The smiles didn't last—there was an eruption of flame from above, and then their world was burning—the forest around them blazing to life, causing them to have to shield their eyes. They had to stop—they'd risk killing themselves if they didn't—but stopping only left them open to something worse.

The dragon landed, just behind them, its burning gaze scorching the five boys. They stared at it a moment, and it at them, before the shadows seemed to twist and contort and shrink, leaving a lone humanoid figure where the great scaled beast had once been.

It was the same figure from earlier—the one with the haunting stare. A smirk twisted the features of the creature, even as it stalked forwards.

The younger three froze, shock and fear paralyzing them. Perhaps they began to shake, perhaps Grant began to whimper, tears in his eyes and grip on Trevor's hand tight and painful. The older boys, however, managed to keep enough of their wits in the face of such unbelievable magic to move. Adrian and Hector were quick to shove the other three behind them—as if the meager protection they could provide would grant their friends anything at all. Still, loyalty bid they do it, and so Adrian turned, met the frightened gazes of the three, and spoke one word—

_"Run."_

Run. There was flames behind them, and a beast before—where could they run? The dragon would slay them where they stood before they could slip past, and the fire was likely to burn them to ashes. They were trapped, stuck between being devoured by a dragon in the shape of a man, or by dragon-fire. The three boys stared at their friends, unable to see a way out, even as the squires prepared themselves for a final, futile charge.

There was no hope of ducking away from the dragon's claws, and fire was not a foe any man could challenge unarmed and expect to win. Except, they had splashed through a stream, and would only be in the flames for but a moment. A certain death, or a likely one? Well, Trevor knew which he would chose-and though his friends could not seem to break the spell the appearance of that draconic figure had cast upon them, he would chose for them, as well.

And so it was Trevor that spun on his heel and grabbed the hands of Grant and Isaac, tugging them towards the towering flames. The heat made his eyes water, and the smoke made his throat burn, but these were pains he could handle. Certainly he'd handled worse before.

Grant made a surprised sound, and Trevor could have sworn he heard Isaac mutter a soft "you're_ mad_, Belmont!" but he did not reply to either. Words could not help him here, and so he saved his breath.

From behind them came the sounds of blades singing through the air, a snarled curse-not in a voice any of the three recognized-and then the sound of something-two somethings, actually, one right after the other-falling to the ground. It was quickly drowned out by the roar of the flames—and what a roar that was. But even worse was the heat! Not even the hottest day in summer could compare. It seared at them, clawed at them, tried to tear their will from them and consume them all.

Trevor, however, was not one to lose a battle of wills so easily. He continued to pull his friends through the flames, cringing against the pain—easily one of the worst punishments he'd been forced to endure, and certainly more than Grant or Isaac had ever borne—but he plowed through to the other side all the same.

The three emerged, coughing and hacking, clothes charred and flesh covered in burns. What a sorry sight they'd look, once drawn into the light, all haggard and worn! But sorrier was their situation—there was another low snarl from behind them. Trevor did not know what had become of Adrian and Hector, but he could only assume the worst.

He wished it could have been different. A pity he had never gotten to say a proper farewell. A pity he would not get to say such a thing to the pair beside him.

Resigned though his thoughts were, Trevor was not planning on making this easy for their pursuer. In fact, his aim was to be as difficult as possible to catch—a final act of defiance from a forever defiant child.

He caught Isaac's eye—and knew the redhead was thinking the same thing. If they were to die, they would die like the knights they had hoped to be—defying the forces of darkness to the end. Even if they could only put off the end by moments, at best, it was better than cowering and letting it take them.

And so they continued to run, even as the smoke torn at their lungs and blurred their vision. They were downwind of the flames, and so their best hope was to cut away from their current path and try to get to clear air, though they had no idea how far away clear air might be. The trio wove in between gnarled roots and towering trunks, trying to make their path as erratic and unpredictable as possible. The measured crunch of twigs under their pursuer's boots had only hastened their furious pace.

They didn't know what to expect—certainly not the forest before them to erupt into flame. There was no roar of a dragon, no beating of wings of shadow—but the foliage burned bright regardless, just as if it had been touched by the dragon's breath. And with the flames came the smoke, bellowing out in great clouds and burning their lungs and their eyes.

The trio turned sharply, continuing their flight. Again the trees before them burst into fire, and then the ones where they turned to next did the same. What sorcery was this? It was as if the creature pursuing them could throw fire without flint or tinder. How could that be possible? Whatever it was, they could do little to counter it.

Again they braved the fire—less hot, this time, less intense, but still enough to have them cringing at the pain. The winds were not on their side, it seemed—the smoke continued to surround them, and the flames only spread, dancing across the treetops.

Even as they ducked under another burst of flame, the forest betrayed them—the tree that had been so violently struck came crashing down, and the only way they could avoid being crushed was for them to dive out of the way—Trevor and Grant to one side, and Isaac the other.

The redhead and the little Belmont barely exchanged a glance when they heard a low chuckle from behind them. Scowling, Isaac simply snarled, "Get out of here!" before turning and vanishing from Trevor's sight.

Hesitating only for a moment, Trevor turned and continued to pull Grant along. There was silence, save for their unsteady breath and rushed steps—no dark laughter tailing them, no bursts of fire—but that did not save them.

The flames were still spreading, and the smoke still surrounded them. They were already tired and exhausted, panting to try and get air into their lungs, but all it did was burn their throats and cause them to hack and cough. Before long, Grant slipped and collapsed, wheezing and barely conscious.

Trevor should have left him behind and kept running. There was no dragging Grant away, not in the situation they were in. The boy could not save his friend. Any sane man would have left him and kept running, desperate to secure their own life, at the very least.

Instead the little Belmont fell to his knees, tugging at the limp form of his friend, trying to get him to stand once more, voice cracking as he tried to speak, to plead with Grant to get up and keep running, so that they could escape this nightmare together, at the very least. Vision blurred with tears and with smoke, he knew he would not be awake much longer. Even now the edge of his vision was going black, despite the sharp light of the flames.

There was a rustling of the nearby brush, and the boy's gaze snapped up to see that crimson monster stalking towards the pair of them, its arms encased in hellish flames. They had been caught, then. This was the end.

Shuddering and rasping for breath, Trevor pulled Grant into what seemed to be a protective embrace, as if he were attempting to shield the younger boy with his own form. A futile gesture—it would do nothing to stop their pursuer, but Trevor did it all the same. Grant was the youngest of all of them, his brother in all but blood, and if he was to die, Trevor wanted to die knowing he had done everything in his power to keep his little brother safe.

He wished he were armed, so that he might make some form of last stand, pathetic though it would be. It would certainly be better than this, hunched over and shuddering, waiting for whatever horror was to be visited upon him.

As the figure marched closer, Trevor tried to find comfort in what was to come. There was little comfort to be had—he did not want to die, did not want to accept this fate, but what could he do to thwart it?

As he fought to keep his eyes open, Trevor swallowed roughly—it did nothing but hurt, really—and told himself that if he died here, he would finally get to meet his mother.

That was his last clear thought—the boy slumped against his friend, unable to keep himself awake any longer.

As darkness wrapped itself around him, the last thing Trevor saw was a pair of black boots and the edge of a crimson coat before him.

-|{D}|-

A single snap of chaos-woven fingers and the flames circling the unconscious boys abated, ebbed away akin to a fearful slave before its master, leaving only charred soil and billows of black smog around them. Dracul hunched down in front of the kids and cupped their heads. Wheezing, ragged breaths escaped their lips and their skin of unhealthy, papery-white tinge, but, otherwise, they were alive and well. They just needed time and care to recover, both of which the Prince of Darkness possessed in abundance. When he desired so.

Even the vampire had to admit to himself: he had both dreaded and anticipated the looming meeting with his nigh-adolescent son. The fact had been surprising in itself, yes, but even he could not predict how Trevor would react to seeing him… and learning the truth. He'd been under the Brotherhood's iron heel for over a decade now; what kind of putrid lies had they fed the boy with? To what atrocities had they subjected his tired mind? What kind of man would he blossom into after enduring such barbarity?

One of strong spirit and willpower, he could tell. The way Trevor dared to challenge the raging inferno – nearly burning to a crisp, foolish boy – just to escape his grasp was praiseworthy. Admirable, even. And how he stopped to try and drag little Grant out of harm's way, even when he had all the chances of fleeing with his life… That pure selflessness and loyalty to each of his friends left a certain warmth in the Dragon's unbeating heart.

With a small smile tugging at his lips, Dracul scooped the unconscious boy up, cradling his slim form against his chest. His clothes were in disarray, torn and shredded in places, countless burns from the flames marred his skin, and smudges of dirt and grime stained his face, but apart from that, Trevor did not seem to be suffering from any long-term damage. Before the vampire could restrain himself, he placed a light kiss on the child's forehead. His boy… his dear boy… was finally with him.

It was not difficult for him to retrace his steps and rediscover the limp bodies of Trevor's acquaintances. The valiant squires of the group had been incapacitated aforehand, tucked a safe distance away from the fire, whilst the rest of the boy's friends had passed out from the smoke as well as the shock, just like the youth himself. Comatose, but very much alive. Exhaustion tortured their bodies, and consciousness was just a faraway dream for them. Good, the boys would be lost in their sleep for the rest of the night, if not longer. Plenty of time to have them delivered to the Bernhards' fortress.

Augustus had proven his worth – he had returned shortly after the last boy had been recovered, carrying three figures that could only belong to the young women of Trevor's merry band. According to the soldier, they had not posed much of a challenge to procure: they snooped around the forest all by themselves, in a fruitless search to locate their missing friends. Eventually, their findings led them to the spreading fire, an image of hell on earth.

Soon enough, the great winged beast woven from shadows – the stuff of legends, until now! — emerged from the treetops and headed south-east, back to place he now called home.


	3. Chapter 2: Disclosure

_Rei here-thank you all for the kind reviews! To those of you who were wondering-yes, Trevor's group of friends are all based on characters from the classic Castlevania series. However, please don't make the mistake of thinking they're the same people! Right now, they're all kids who have been living under the care of the Brotherhood, like Trevor has been-we'll touch on their individual stories as we get farther along. As for what happens to all of them-well, you'll have to wait and see._

* * *

-|{D}|-

_Later that night. Bernhard's Castle, Guest Room, north wing_

Gingerly cradling the senseless frames of the children close to his chest, Dracul carried them to the bizarrely-decorated guest wing – courtesy of the whimsical Toy Maker who had taken up residence in the north-western parts of the castle. Curst by the perfidious Walter Bernhard and condemned to spend an eternity in sole company of his fiendish puppets, the man had been roused from his slumber and now offered his services to the one who had awakened him - the vampire lord himself.

Preoccupied with his undying pastime of carving out various nigh-sentient toys, the marionette master did not notice Dracul's arrival. At first. Concluding that the cursed human's unusual appearance, one of bluish skin and razor-sharp teeth, would spook the young more than anything in this wing, the Prince had asked him to leave this place behind. Temporarily, of course. The Toy Maker did not object; he quickly grabbed his unfinished puppet, as well as his carving knife, and raced off, giggling madly.

Having that obstacle out of his way, Dracul proceeded with his next step. The band's torn, frayed, and charred clothing was discarded and replaced with an entirely new garb, one of rich cotton and wool, dyed in a soft shade of red. All armaments the children had been in possession of were taken away as well. The soot on their skin was cleaned and burns treated with a thick, odoriferous balm. Ill-smelling and oily, yes, but it would numb the pain and soothe the discomfort.

Augustus had helped, but only after changing from his Brotherhood attire to something more suitable - a thick travelling cloak and a pair of plain pants. He would have opted for something more intricate than that, but his large, leathery wings could not allow for such exquisiteness. Such grisly appendages… Could they be cleaved off or otherwise removed, the elder briefly wondered. The man still shivered and shuddered at the sudden noises wailing through the castle's desolate halls, but remained steadfast, much to the dragon's relish. A small crook twitching his lips, Dracul rested his hand against his friend's shoulder, a sign of heartfelt approval. August startled in surprise, bloodshot eyes as wide as saucers, yet a strained smile graced his lips, nonetheless.

Finally, once their work was finished, the elder beckoned Augustus to his side. The blade that had cut through flesh and bone not too long ago whistled through the air, bringing forth the much-welcomed chill. Gusts of icy wind roared outside, washing over the sleeping children and staining their pallid cheeks with dots of warmth. Already, the vampires could sense some of them begin to stir, awakened from their asphyxiated sleep.

Dracul dug his sword deep into the planks of the floors, and focused his gaze on the children.

-|{T}|-

Adrian was the first to stir.

It wasn't stirring, not really—he groaned a bit, his hand rising to his face, and lay still for but a moment. Then, as the memories of what had transpired hit him, he jolted upright, cringing against the pain the sudden movement caused. His left hand drifted to his side, as if looking for something—likely his sword.

Upon finding nothing, he glanced down to see his change in apparel, his bandages-even the smallest of cuts from the branches of the forest had been tended to—and his lack of weaponry. The youth swore softly to himself, but did not dwell on the fact for long. It was clear that more important things were on his mind.

His gaze shot up to sweep the room, and upon finding the forms of his friends laying in beds around him, his shoulders relaxed, if only a little. Still, the foreign surroundings clearly had him on edge—especially when he gaze fell upon the pair of vampires.

Instantly Adrian stiffened, his gaze sharpening into a cold glare. Memories of the firestorm locked him in place, and despite it all, he could not recall what had happened to him after that desperate attempt to keep the vampire away from his young friends. He continued to stare, trying to puzzle out the reason they had kept him alive and well—and then turned away, twisting his injured form to pull himself from his bed. Once on his feet, he paused a moment to allow the dizziness to clear, before forcing himself towards the bed beside his—Grant's.

The blond hovered over his friend, checking the younger boy's breathing, his burns, his general well-being, a frown of concern twisting his expression. Almost out of habit he straightened the crimson bandanna that, somehow, remained tied around the boy's neck. Whoever had changed his clothing had thought to leave him with that little treasure-and had taken the care to wash the soot from it, as well. Again gold eyes flicked to the vampires, as if attempting to will them to proffer the answers to this puzzle, but no words were spoken.

Once seemingly satisfied with Grant's condition, he moved on to the next, and similarly hovered over Trevor. He muttered to himself, something about the boy being a fool, but he was careful all the same as he fretted over the child's numerous injuries. One would almost think he was a mother hen.

There was a noise from a bed farther down, a bit of a shrill sound, as Rosaly jolted into wakefulness. Adrian was moving immediately, forcing himself to sprint to her side, despite the fact that moving at anything more than a slow walk seemed to cause him quite a bit of pain.

Rosaly tried to force herself up, tried to take in everything about her surroundings at once, only to have Adrian force her to stay still. Once her eyes found his, she managed to calm somewhat, slowly rising to a sitting position.

"A-Adrian? You're alive! But…the fire!"

"There is no fire here, Rosaly." He couldn't seem to bring himself to say that they were in no danger, not with the pair of vampires still watching their movements from across this strange hall.

"Are you c-certain? I can still smell the smoke…"

The blond youth paused at that, and began to speak again—only to be interrupted by a ragged cough as Hector pushed himself up. The silver-haired squire was wheezing, a hand hovering near his throat, but after a moment he managed to look about him at a slow, measured pace. His eyes found Adrian and Rosaly first.

"…We're alive."

"Aye," his blond counterpart replied, eyes flicking over to the vampires for a moment, gauging their reaction to the events as they unfolded. They seemed to be content to simply stand and keep watch, even though one clearly had some spectral sword at his side.

"The others? Isaac and Trevor and Grant?"

"Beside you still."

Hector glanced to his sides, finding the younger boys all laying in bed around him, and heaved a sigh. The silver-haired squire took stock of his own injuries for a moment, fingers lingering on the bandages wrapped around his brow. It must have been quite a blow to the head for him to have fallen unconscious for so long...however long it had been. With a groan he, like Adrian, forced himself to his feet, and, like Adrian, he approached one of the beds beside him. In his case it was Isaac's, and the youth paused for a moment to reach out and brush the hair from the redhead's face.

With a huff, he turned and approached where Adrian stood by Rosaly, pausing at another bed, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

"Why are Rosaly and Julia here?"

Adrian simply nodded in the direction of the vampires. Hector's gaze flicked over, his frown deepening slightly, before he turned back to Adrian. "That does not answer the question."

"It's the only answer I have, unfortunately."

Hector gave a hum as a reply, before allowing himself to all but fall onto the bed beside Rosaly, reaching to embrace her. Adrian left the lovers to their own devices, glancing into the third bed on Rosaly's other side—and found Sypha, curled into the blankets. A scowl crossed his fair features for a moment, before he began to look the young girl over for injuries as he had with the pair of boys. He seemed pleased, if only slightly, that the young lass bore no marks of abuse, nor of fire-simply the pale cheeks of one who been in smoke for too long. So their captors had not attacked her, at least...a small blessing, if anything about this whole situation could be considered a blessing at all.

There was another quiet sound—this time from Trevor's bed. The little Belmont stirred slightly, coughing a bit as he, too, came into wakefulness.

He blinked a few times, disoriented, slowly lifting his head from his pillow. What was going on? Had the roaring flames been just another nightmare? But this did not look like his room—it was too big, and the blankets that covered him too fine to be the rough woolen thing that had been his. Looking down at himself, Trevor saw bandages lingering across his form, and unfamiliar clothing—he had been wearing his favorite green coat, why was his shirt red?

At least his mirror was still with him. He didn't know what he would do if he lost that.

Still, he was terribly, terribly confused, and upon hearing Adrian begin to make his way towards him, Trevor lifted his head and opened his mouth as if to speak.

He spotted the two vampires out of the corner of his eyes, and his gaze instantly locked onto them. The boy's mouth snapped shut and he made a noise of fear and shock as the events of the night came crashing back upon him. He was starting to tremble, now, and his heart rate had picked up—he was beginning to panic.

He might have fallen to pieces, had Adrian not chosen that moment to seat himself quite abruptly beside Trevor, giving a quick hacking cough that caught the boy's attention.

Adrian muttered, "the others are alright," even as he scoured Trevor for signs of permanent harm. The boy seemed to relax—but only slightly. He was still quite clearly terrified, though he attempted to respond.

The attempt was cut short by a rough serious of coughing, one that caused his small shoulders to shake and his eyes to water, even as Adrian moved to steady him.

"You need water," the blond muttered, looking worried. And slowly Adrian's gaze fell upon the vampires once more—not a glare, but just a flat stare, as if waiting to see what they would do in response to the child's plight.

-|{D}|-

Augustus' eyes twinkled at Adrian's suggestion, and the elder bowed his head in wordless agreement with his old friend. The soldier quickly fetched a tarnished goblet from the nearby table, wiped it out, and handed it to Dracul.

The Prince placed it on the floor with a faint _ding_ and let his clawed fingers run down the blade of his sword. Chunks of ice fragmented off of the enchanted weapon, and, in matter of moments, slithered down into the golden cup.

There, he picked it up and melted the ice using the mild heat invoked by his chaos gloves. Glimmering eyes traced each and every one of his movements, phantoms of apprehension surging through their depths. Points of his canine teeth digging into his lower lip, the vampire hastily extinguished the infernal magic. The burning flame, its rattling hiss… It, no doubt, had reminded the children of the abduction, of the wreath of leaping fires all around them. Such a pity, yet the Order had brought it on themselves.

Holding the cup in his outstretched hand, the vampire slowly approached the party. But just as he sensed Trevor's muscles tense, just as the hollow gasps began to shudder his entire frame, the elder froze mid-motion, not daring – or willing – to cross the unseen threshold.

"He needs water," Dracul uttered quietly, addressing the blond squire. "I'm offering it."

-|{T}|-

The reaction to the use of the chaos claws was anything but muted-it had not been near long enough since the firestorm for them to have healed from the dark memories. Rosaly wailed, burying herself into her lover's arms, even as Hector moved to shield her. Trevor went pale as a ghost, locking up in panic-he had been the only one of them to actually see the flame-gauntlets, after all-and clung to Adrian as if his life depended on it, as the blond moved to push his friend behind him.

The little Belmont's fear was only amplified as the vampire drew closer, and he almost felt as if he couldn't breathe, for the nightmare he'd just come from was starting to repeat itself in his mind-and he clung to Adrian all the tighter.

When the creature stopped and spoke, it was Adrian that moved, slowly rising to his feet. Trevor tried to keep his grip on the older boy, but the blond did not stop, instead simply taking slow, cautious steps towards the vampire. Certainly the creature appeared to be unarmed, but that meant nothing—they had all seen what the dragon before them was capable of.

Still, Adrian approached and stood before him, head held high. He would not cower, not even when he was so clearly at this creature's mercy. Instead he carefully lifted the goblet from the vampire's grip and began to back away, not daring to turn his back to such a powerful foe.

No attack came, and so Adrian returned and sat beside Trevor once more, and, instead of giving the goblet straight to his friend, he lifted it to his lips and took a slow drink.

Silence, for a moment, and then—"If it is poisoned, I cannot taste it."

"…That was a foolish thing to do," came Hector's voice, toneless and flat.

"It would have been more foolish to not test it at all," the blond replied tersely, even as he pressed the goblet into Trevor's quaking hands. The boy stared at Adrian with wide eyes, as if asking if he really had to drink something given to him by a walking nightmare.

"Don't give me that look," Adrian said simply, one of his eyebrows raising. "You need it. Drink."

Slowly Trevor obeyed, taking a long drought of the water offered to him.

That taken care of, the gazes of the waking children turned back to the elder, and to Augustus behind him. It was Hector that broke the silence. "…Why have you captured us?"

-|{D}|-

As the children conversed between themselves, the elder vampire retreated back into the shadows, unwilling to make any of them uncomfortable or anxious. In this place they weren't prisoners or hostages, but noble guests of honor, and he was their benevolent host. Now, the task lay with delivering such message, without incurring their hostility or, worse, fear.

It would not be an easy task. He understood that he had torn seven of his son's closest friends away from their families, with no intention in mind of allowing them to reunite with their siblings. They… _He_ was bound to hate him for putting them through this. For putting _others _through the _worst_ of fates.

"In all honestly," Dracul began, fidgeting with his fingers. "I brought you all here because of one reason. So you could accompany Trevor through the… undeniably hard times he's going through. Perpetual suffering, or any kind of pain at all, is the worst of curses on this earth, but the kind words of others can be of great help. Even if you believe otherwise." He allowed himself to smile, careful not let his fangs flash. "You're not detainees and never will be. You have my word on this. But _he_ needs your support."

-|{T}|-

Silence followed the vampire's words as those who were awake stared, clearly processing what had been said. Slowly the elder three turned to Trevor, who looked as shocked as they, if not more. He made a hapless gesture, as if trying to convey his utmost confusion, and opened his mouth to speak—

—only no sound came out.

This appeared to surprise the child greatly—surprise and distress him. Where was his voice? Certainly his throat hurt, but the water had made that better, and he didn't feel like anything was wrong. But, despite his best efforts, he could not form words.

It almost sent him into a panic again.

The others caught on quickly—as was to be expected, considering the look of despair crossing Trevor's features. He glanced at the vampires for a moment, as if they might have some answer—was it a curse of theirs?—and then back to the others, clearly pleading for help.

Adrian's response was about as panicked as Trevor's was—the blond was looking the boy over, trying to see if something had torn at the boy's throat, trying to find some cause for it, but there was nothing. Scowling, Adrian stared Trevor in the eyes. "You can't say anything? Not a word?"

Trevor attempted to speak again, but still there was no sound. Looking absolutely miserable, the boy shook his head.

Adrian sighed, running his fingers through his wavy hair. "Calm down, Trevor. We'll find a way to fix this."

"Let me take a look at him," Rosaly offered. "I may not yet be a healer in full, but I know some remedies…perhaps I can help."

Trevor tried to smile in response, but he couldn't seem to manage it. She smiled back, however, and spoke in a soothing voice. "I promise you, once I am more myself again, I will find a way to help you, Trevor."

This time the little Belmont really did manage a smile, a shy little thing that managed to convey a sense of gratitude. It only lasted a moment, and then it was gone, and the boy was raising the goblet to his lips once more, trying to soothe the ache in his throat and, perhaps, hoping that if he drank, it would cure his affliction, whatever that affliction was.

Adrian continued to watch the boy, clearly worried, and seemed to have lost interest in the rest of the world. And so, after a moment of silence, Hector spoke again, his voice still flat and measured.

"Why are you so concerned with Trevor, then?"

-|{D}|-

"I have heard of this," Augustus whispered, surveying the mute boy with a mask of disquiet wreathing his features. "Extreme shock can force a body into a numb stupor. This had happened to some of the new recruits under my command after… well, after you disappeared."

"What's the treatment?" Dracul returned in the same hushed tone, disregarding the last part of the soldier's sentence.

"Peace, quiet, and time. Unfortunately, there's no medication capable of speeding up the process of recovery as this is not a physical injury of any sort."

The elder vampire mulled over the warrior's words; to find a suitable serenity within this place? In a castle swarming with nightmarish creatures? Granted, they all would not dare invade the kids' chosen resting place, but still… He did not want to take any chances. But before he could come to a solid conclusion, the silverette's voice boomed around him like a bell, startling him from his thoughts.

"Let's just say, he's special." The vampire bowed his head. "He has raw potential, power untamed within him which could be his undoing if it's not controlled in time. I simply offer knowledge, lessons on how to cope with it."

He settled his eyes on the mute boy, gaze uncharacteristically tender. "You've been having nightmares, have you not? Poignant, haunting nightmares that pursued you since you were a wee bairn. Awful terrors of a looming figure inviting you to approach it. Yes, I know of them; dreams are a gateway to the mind after all. A simple phrase had hounded you for many a year now. When you visit your mother's grave on the eve of your birthday, you can hear a voice mutter that same phrase over and over again. Never stopping as if its owner is… bereft of reason or demented."

-|{T}|-

There was a scoff at the answer from Hector, who was clearly unconvinced of anything the vampire was saying. Rosaly curled into her lover, not knowing how to handle what was going on. Though the elders had clearly thought Trevor possessed some special power, being the son of the Champion of God, neither of the lovers could believe that a vampire could provide the boy with any aid in taming whatever hidden talents the child possessed. Surely a holy order such as the Brotherhood was better suited to such a task! Adrian's eyes narrowed, and he shifted closer to Trevor, as if ready to shield the boy from whatever foul lies he believed the vampire about to spew forth.

Trevor, however, stiffened at the soft descriptions of his nightmares, the contents of which he had shared with no one. Certainly Adrian and Grant knew that he lost sleep some nights—they would fail to miss the sluggish demeanor that plagued him when he hadn't gotten adequate rest, but never had he shared what it was that had him jolting awake in the middle of the night. They never asked—they both understood that there were some things a person did not want to discuss.

And that comment about his mother's grave! Part of the reason he had taken to talking to her when he visited was to drown out the words on the wind. He'd only even mentioned those once, but he did not see how the vampire before him could know that. Still, now that he thought about it, the vampire's voice was familiar to him. Incredibly so. In fact, he'd heard it often, almost for as long as he could remember—wait. _Wait._

_Small feet darted behind larger boots as his godfather lead him to the place he sought. They both bore flowers, beautiful things of assorted colors, bright in the shade of the trees. The toddler's hand was gripped tightly in the knight's larger one, even as they approached the grave._

"'_Lo, Mama!" The toddler chirped, laying the flowers out on the packed earth, just as he'd been told to. His godfather followed suite, murmuring his own quiet greeting._

_The little lad began to speak, telling his mother about all the adventure's he'd had since his last visit, bright and cheery in his youth. He was in the middle of a rather humorous tale of an encounter with a hunting hound when he suddenly cut off, glancing around him in confusion._

"_August? Did you say somethin'?"_

"_No, lad."_

"_...Then who's talkin'?"_

"_You are, Trevor, as you have been for the past fifteen minutes," the knight replied, amused at the child's confused expression._

"_But tha's not my voice!"_

_And the boy fell silent again, listening intently, as something continued to whisper to him. Pouting, he turned to face his godfather. "Someone's whisperin'! ...It's not Mama, is it? It don't sound like a lady…"_

"_Trevor, there's no one here but us. You're hearing an echo, or a wild animal-"_

"_No 'm not! Someone's whisperin'!" The toddler stomped his foot in defiance, pouting all the more. "It's sayin' somethin' 'bout a son of somethin'. I can't hear all of it. The wind's too loud."_

_And the toddler continued to pout at his godfather, not understanding the look of concern the man was giving him._

Trevor had never told anyone about that-Augustus had insisted on taking the boy to the healers, and then to a cleric, just to be safe, but they had never found out what was going on. He'd only ever heard that whisper on the wind at his mother's grave...well, and in his dreams, the ones with haunting figures in the dark. It had taken him _years_ to decipher the words, but the older he had gotten, the clearer they'd become-until the nightmare he'd had just before he was kidnapped, where the voice was unmistakable, as if the speaker were standing right next to him.

_Son of the Dragon_, it had called him-always in the same voice, but never in the same tone. At times it was a croon, gentle and soothing, others it was a plea, desperate and broken. Just before the raid it had been a mighty roar-not unlike that of the shadow dragon-so demanding it had jolted him from his sleep.

Now he knew-that voice belonged to the vampire before him. His glare was back, darker than ever, and he was scowling just a bit. Now the glare really was an accusation-how dare this creature intrude upon the places where Trevor was supposed to be safest!-though he could not speak it aloud. Still he glared, shoulders tense and knuckles gripping the stem of the goblet in his hands so tightly they were white.

-|{D}|-

"I know exactly what is surging through your mind, boy," the vampire noted shrewdly as he approached a table with the various trinkets of the children scattered upon its sleek surface. Dracul scrutinized them for several seconds before picking up three: a small plush wolf, a blanket, and Trevor's combat cross. "How exactly did I come to possess such knowledge? You don't know me. I am a stranger, an abductor. And yet…"

The vampire's fingers ran through the thick fur of the toy wolf. "This is a gift from your godfather and caretaker, who was one of your father's friends. He had been the one to take you to your mother's grave when you were little. And he had been more than eager to share a tale or two of your father's great deeds."

The vampire glanced longingly at the woolen blanket, the corners of his mouth sinking ever downward. "This the only memento of your poor deceased mother, Marie. She had been given one single day to spend with you as a babe before you were taken away. She had given up her own life to save yours. She is in a better place now and she is watching over you akin to a guardian angel."

Finally, he came to the iron crucifix. "The primary weapon of the Order; its stake extension perfect for when standing up to the children of the night. Only the best warriors of the Brotherhood are presented with such a weapon."

He steadied his gaze on the mute. "Have you ever questioned _why_ the elders had put so much faith into you, Trevor? Why have you been gifted with a combat cross? You're still a child, but unbeknownst to you, you were raised as humanity's last hope, its savior, its champion against the supernatural. You were destined to plunge this very weapon through my chest. Because you're the only one capable of such a feat."

Dracul put all the items away and offered the youth a pensive smile. "This is no secret, boy, your parents _are_ dead. They were separated, barred from each other: one rejoiced in His domain, while the other one was sentenced to a torturous, pitiful existence here on Earth." He inhaled sharply before continuing. "Love makes us do horrible things… _become _horrible things so the other one could be happy. And I… I decided to give Marie just that. She… she deserves Paradise."

-|{T}|-

The vampire may have been telling him things he already knew, but the very fact that he knew them was distressing to the child. A look of shock slipped over his face at the sight of his wolf—he had thought it lost, left behind at the fortress and forever beyond his reach. A hand left the goblet and almost made to reach for it, but was tangled into the blanket that still covered his legs instead, even as the glare slipped over his face once more—a mask more than anything.

The change in the monster's expression was not lost on the boy, who watched with quivering shoulders as the blanket was lifted and turned over. the glare that was his mask splintering a bit as his mother was brought into the conversation. He knew well the story behind his mother's death—betrayed and murdered, only just able to save her son and not herself. He hated hearing of it—of such a cruel end to such a saintly woman.

And then there was the cross.

There was a noise of surprise from the children as the vampire picked up the combat cross—it was a holy weapon, and he an unholy creature, he should not have been able to touch it without burning himself. To do so would mean that he had great power—or something else entirely. Or, perhaps, both.

Trevor did not seem shocked by the questions, and met the vampire's gaze quite squarely—a feat he could not have managed moments ago. He knew well the Brotherhood was grooming him for some grand destiny, they had made that no secret, though he had never been sure what that destiny might be. He did not care—that was not why he was learning the art of war.

The admission that the one he was being trained to kill was the vampire before him was met with a surprised noise, but the shock did not last. It stood to reason—if he were to be the Brotherhood's champion, then they would seek to pit him against the greatest creatures of darkness, and this vampire had proven himself just that. The roar of the dragon still echoed in the child's ears.

The statements that followed were not a true confession, but they might as well have been. As the words clicked in the boy's mind, he froze—his breath caught—and he stared at the creature, as if seeing the vampire for the first time all over again.

The boy made a noise of confusion and denial, his head slowly shaking back and forth. He did not want to believe those words. He _would_ not. His father was long dead, his spirit long gone—Trevor did not _want_ the man to be standing before him now, a monster that he was supposed to hate, to kill. It was too much.

The others did not miss the implication, either—there was a small gasp from Rosaly, a low oath from Hector. Adrian glanced between Trevor and the elder, and, upon seeing the boy shaking like a leaf in a storm, pulled the goblet from his hands before he dropped it—or threw it. Turning back to the dragon, the blond snapped, "You mean to say that _you_ are Trevor's father? Why should we believe that?"

Trevor, still inexplicably mute, simply shook in his seat, inhaling sharply at Adrian's words. He wanted to scream, to cry, to howl in denial, to attack the vampire for daring to say such a thing—but part of the boy, the innate sensitivity of a child, knew a heartfelt truth when he heard one.

And he_ hated_ it.

And so Trevor sat, quivering in shock and despair, obviously trying to keep himself together, a fight he was clearly losing. Even now his eyes welled up with tears, and his breath hitched in a choked sob.

-|{D}|-

Dracul forced himself – through a titanic exertion – to remain in one place, simply looking at the sobbing and trembling form of his son. His mind and his heart dashed away from each other, each screaming orders and willing for his body to obey: psyche commanded to stay still, to not provoke any of the children, while the long-dead muscle buried deep within his chest screamed for him to _go._ Soothe Trevor's pain. Embrace him. Wipe his tears and horrors away.

The dull, palpitating ache inside his rib cage made him gag and cringe. And that pain made him commit the unthinkable.

He crossed the distance between him and the children in a blink of an eye, disregarding all the surprised, indignant and wary remarks. Kneeling in front of Trevor's bed, he placed the boy's plush toy on the sheet beside him. In the same lightning-fast motion, Dracul wrapped the said plushie in Marie's blanket. And before anyone could react to his actions, he jumped back, out of the party's reach. Eyes wide as saucers, he stared at the weeping child, hoping, _praying_, it would make him, at least, feel better.

-|{T}|-

The sudden closing of distance earned the beast a variety of surprised sounds—a shriek from Rosaly, a curse from Adrian and Hector both, and a very soft cry of alarm from Trevor himself. The remaining children stirred in their beds, disturbed by the volume of the noise.

Adrian would have attacked the vampire, had the vampire not been so horrendously fast. By the time the blond youth had shifted himself to lash out with a kick, the elder had retreated out of his range, and so he had to settle with glaring instead.

Trevor took a moment to recover from the shock of having the vampire kneeling before him, but once he caught up with what was happening—well. The wolf was scooped up into his arms, and he buried his face in the familiar blanket that was wrapped around it. …It still smelled of the wood and stone of the fortress, of his old room. The familiarity was comforting.

The boy continued to shudder and sniffle, clinging to his wolf like it was his last lifeline. He took no heed of the world around him for a few moments, not even Adrian's soothing hand or the worried noise that Rosaly made, concerned as she always was for the well-being of children.

He did eventually notice the vampire's stare, teary eyes slowly rising to meet the crimson ones once more. Trevor sniffled, hugging the wolf just a bit tighter as he looked over at the vampire that claimed to be his father, and wondered why a creature that had been so willing to tear its way through countless warriors and burn the very forest down around them was staring back at him with such wide eyes.

Almost unbidden, the boy recalled an encounter with an alley-cat one day while he was in town. He had spooked the poor thing on accident, and it had hidden under a cart and stared at him much the same way the vampire now did. Like he was afraid of him.

The thought of such a powerful creature being afraid of him was so utterly ridiculous, that Trevor couldn't help the slight curl of a smile and a snort of laughter. They did not last long—soon enough he was leaning into Adrian's side, still sniffling—but it was something.

Trevor had no idea how he felt about this situation anymore. How was he supposed to feel? The creature before him was a monster—he had seen that, plain as day. And yet the monster seemed so concerned with his well being—giving him water, tending the wounds of him and his friends, trying to provide comfort in some small way. Monsters did not do such things—they did not regret the pain they visited on others, or at least so the boy believed.

He did not trust the vampire, nor did he want to believe him, but he did calm, the shudders slowly dying down to a soft quiver, the sobs turning into unsteady breathing.

And he continued to stare at the beast, waiting for the vampire to answer Adrian's question.

-|{D}|-

"You don't," the vampire answered, shifting a miniscule step closer to the party. "I can't offer you anything substantial for I have lost everything… I have nothing left, but I can tell you how it had come to pass. The truth."

The blood in his temples thrummed with familiar pain as he tried to recall the bitter facts of his escapade and its aftermath. He swallowed up heavily, the image of the chamber around him blurring for a fraction of a second, and he began. And as he talked, as he paraphrased the various points of his journey from start to finish, not leaving a single detail out, he continued to inch towards the group, slowly, one step at a time.

He was cutting his old wounds open, ripping the ethereal suture away, as the acidic blood that poured forth gorged upon his own flesh, yet he could not bring himself to care. More than anything, he desired to be listened to, to be understood… Not forgiven or forgotten, but just… understood.

Dracul knelt in front of the bedpost, in arm's reach of the blond squire. "… She… Marie concealed your birth from me because of the Brotherhood. The Order is not noble or virtuous, but deceitful, amoral, and corrupt. They had used all of us for their own, personal unfiltered gain. Dolls in the hands of the puppeteer. Worst of all, they were planning to pit blood against blood in the end. To have a family, nay, a whole lineage, tear itself asunder from within. I couldn't stand idly and watch you – or your friends – be indoctrinated by the so-called pious priests and knights."

The vampire pursed his lips in reflection, a faint smile tugging at the corners. "You have your mother's eyes, Trevor. She also had a rim of ocher around the pupil."

-|{T}|-

The children listened silently, keeping whatever thoughts they had about the dragon's tale to themselves as he spun it. He certainly had their undivided attention—not once did their eyes leave his form, even as the tale turned grimmer. Perhaps Rosaly leaned into her lover's arms, and perhaps Trevor tightened his grip on his wolf, but not a word was said—not even to the vampire's steady approach.

The death of the Lords of Shadow was not entirely unfamiliar to them. They had all heard the Brotherhood's version of the tale—that a great and noble warrior had taken up the crusade, slaughtering the first two and sacrificing himself against the third. There were many that spun that particular story-some with far more pride than others...

"_Gather round, everyone, gather round," the grizzled knight-commander announced, a blithesome smile quirking his mouth, "don't be shy, little one," he crooned at a wan-looking girl. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not now, not ever. I am here to spin a tale of wonder, a tale of heroism and selflessness. A tale of heroes who strove to save humanity!"_

_The aged crusader's grin grew wider, crow's-feet wrinkle webbing the corners of his steel-gray eyes. "I am general Valeriy Alajos, and the one who had preserved us from the shadows' reign… the man, Gabriel Belmont, is my foster son." He heaved a pensive, yet high-minded sigh. "The Hero of the Almighty. A caring, compassionate man. An honorable husband and a proud father-" Valeriy paused and gave Trevor a tender glance. The wee boy returned his gaze, a beaming smile twitching his own lips. _

"_The savage lycans, the infernal vampires... even the wicked necromancers. Gabriel had defeated them all, yet, sadly, at a heavy price. The Lord of the Dead had used his nefarious magics to ensnare the knight, yet even his evil spell could not deter the Champion of Light. No, the Chosen had broken free, bearing the Sublime Being's holy power!" The commander motioned at the cloudless sky, head tilted to his side. _

"_Lo, for the necromancer still had an ace in the hole. Life versus decay, light versus dark. The sorcerer had invoked the last remnants of his power! It swelled his being with a gooey darkness that had devoured everything in its wake, yet, even then he could not rival the Heavenly Vassal. For God Himself was aiding His Champion!" _

_Valeriy fetched his breath before continuing. "The villain squealed, for he had not anticipated for the hero's might to overcome his own. He unleashed a curse after a curse, a spell after a spell, all in vain. A second, and our hero wrung the villain's arms behind his back! Struggling in his hold, the petty sorcerer had started to chant!" A startled gasp rustled through the juvenile audience, and Trevor involuntarily leaned in. _

_The commander's hands furled into fists. "The very land shuddered and quaked beneath their feet as the restless spirits assailed them both. He had put a diabolical hex on the Champion! A death curse, oh no. None could survive the wrath of a horde of tormented souls… A swarm, they tore and gnawed at his flesh- but power always comes with a price. Ravenous, the spirits projected their fury onto their summoner, fragmenting his very essence and condemning him to a blistering agony in the bowels of Sheol!" _

_The knight fell silent, eyes squeezed shut. "'Tis unfortunate Gabriel had to leave us so soon," he said, arms crossed. "So many things left undone, his voice… forever silenced. He had saved us all, vanquished the Lords of Darkness that had ravaged our land for many a century now, forsaking his own life in the process. No word can express our gratitude. No eulogy is grand enough to commemorate what he had achieved. We pay our respects." Valeriy nodded. "A memorial will be built in his honor, one of marble and gilt. I will see it through, that I can promise. My son deserved as such."_

This spin on the tale was quite different. Not of triumph and martyrdom, but of tragedy and hopelessness. In a way, it almost sounded more real—less like the distant tales of the saints of old, and more like something of the world around them.

There were noises of alarm and disbelief at the revelation of the founders—though they were silenced quickly. Another wave of shock passed at the death of the old god, and again at the rise of the devil himself. By the time the vampire spoke of the forgotten demon, the children had given up on being surprised.

When the creature had drawn close enough, Adrian shifted, the faintest of growls in his throat—but there was no attack. The blond knew well he could not win a fight with the vampire—look at how the last one had ended!—and, more importantly, he was the one that had requested the tale in the first place. It would be rude not to allow the vampire to finish—rude, and counterproductive for the lot of them.

Trevor curled in on himself as the vampire drew close, still clearly uncomfortable with the vampire—but he was not on the verge of breaking into a blind panic now, simply uneasy. Yes, his breathing was unsteady and his grip on his wolf tight, but he did not try to hide himself behind his friend, as he had before.

They were all surprised when the elder knelt before Trevor, shocked that a lord of vampires would lower himself in such a way. They had all been taught that vampires were prideful creatures, far too arrogant to submit to any they deemed weaker, and yet here was this vampire, who claimed to have beaten the devil himself in single combat, seemingly putting himself at the mercy of a flock of wounded children.

Trevor did not want to believe the tale unfolding before him. But, he could not deny the look in the vampire's eyes, nor the way it coincided with the whispers of the elder he had heard when he was not supposed to. Was the truth before him, then? He had a father in the world, not living but undead, and his father had come back for him. It was everything he had wanted, in a way he had not expected and would never had asked for.

The comment about his mother's eyes made his shoulders relax ever so slightly. That was something familiar—many commented on his resemblance to his mother. Some even commented on his resemblance to his father. Later, when he had regained the ability to speak—or, perhaps, simply acquired something with which to write—he would have to ask Adrian if he shared any physical similarities with the creature before him. Adrian had an eye for that sort of thing.

He did not smile back—he could not bring himself to—but Trevor attempted something different. Once again he tried to make his voice work, and once again he was frustrated by his lack of ability to speak. How had he ever taken his voice for granted! Well, he certainly never would again, if he managed to get it back.

Making a noise of exasperation, he fought a battle of will against his own body—and Trevor was nothing if not stubborn. It took him a few moments, but finally he managed to wrest a word from his silent throat.

His voice was soft—it would have been lost had the room not been silent save for the breathing of the children—and raspy, likely an aftereffect of the smoke.

"…Why…?"

He could not manage more than that, and so his question hung in the air. Why what? There were many things he wanted to know—_why_ had his mother had to die, _why_ had his father had to become such a terrible thing, _why_ had the Brotherhood let these things happen, _why_ was he supposed to slay his own kin, _why_ had his father devoured those that had not been fighters, _why_ had he cornered them with fire and fear when he seemed to care so much now, _why_ were they the ones that had to suffer? Not even he was certain which he was trying to ask first.

He didn't expect his father to derive all those questions from a single word. That was alright. Perhaps seeing which one the vampire chose to respond to—if he responded to one of those at all!—would shed new light on the situation.

-|{D}|-

Trevor's single, murmured word rang through his head, yet it took the a vampire a moment or two to register its meaning. Why?

_"What prophecy?"_

_Snow-covered mountaintops, a mystical lake bound in ice, a wind that chilled his entire being to the bone… And an old warrior in equally ancient armor standing before him…_

"_It is said that a pure-hearted warrior would reclaim the power of the Lords of Shadow as his own and use it to overcome all evil," the silver-haired man stated, glancing at him over his shoulder. "He would become God's vassal on earth, supremely powerful. He could do anything."_

"Why?" the vampire mused, combating away the miasmic, nausea-inducing memories. "I've asked myself that same question _so_ many times. And I do not possess a coherent response to that, beside the fact that this… this path had been predestined for me long before my birth. The only one able to lift the shadow off this land… only to shroud it in a crepuscular eclipse, in the process ascending as the Prince of Darkness…" Dracul trailed off.

His muscles stiffened and he shut his eyes for a few seconds. He had promised, he had vowed he would not return, would not even mention it. The very name had wrought his being with pain, a pain so blunt and unyielding, he lost all ability to speak. To _think_. He had lashed out at Augustus because of this… but this was different. He had to exhume it. Just this once, hopefully. For Trevor.

"My—" he swallowed and an anguished grimace twirled his features. "My name was Gabriel Belmont. Champion of God and His Strength."

-|{T}|-

The answer was not what he was hoping for, but he was not surprised. Trevor had learned that only rarely did people really have an answer to why such tragedies occurred. The Brotherhood said to pray, and that God would answer all and deliver them from evil…but he had seen no evidence of this.

He did not miss how the name Gabriel was referred to in past tense. His gaze dropped, down and to the side, as he heard it. This vampire claimed to be his father, and yet denied the name that bound them so readily. How was he supposed to respond?

Gabriel had always been a figure of wonder for the boy. How he had pestered Augustus so! _He had the name of an archangel, was my Papa an angel on Earth? He used the greatest of the combat crosses, was he really so powerful? Did the two of you slay many monsters and save many villages together?_

Now the wonder was robbed of him, by the grim truth of it all. Would he have felt the same, had his father still been a man? He did not know. He never would.

A heavy silence followed the dragon's words—none of the four knew how to break it. What could they say in the face of such a revelation? Certainly they could try to deny the vampire's claims—a creature of darkness was to be expected to lie, after all—but there seemed to be no lie here.

The silence pressed on, seemingly infinite—and then it was abruptly broken by a loud bout of rather creative language.

Isaac was awake.

The redhead jolted out his bed and to his feet, gaze sweeping the room wildly. Upon finding his sister, sleeping peacefully (somehow, despite the noise he was making) he relaxed for a moment. And then he saw the others, the strange room, and most importantly, the vampires.

The look on his face was _livid._

Thankfully, Hector was on his feet and had reached Isaac long before the younger boy could do something stupid—like, say, attempt to attack the dragon unarmed. Which seemed to have been his intention-he had made to charge, ready to shout a warcry to the heavens, when Hector snagged his ear and tugged. The effect was immediate-he began to curse and protest, wincing at the discomfort. The youth made to argue with his elder counterpart, growling and snarling, to which Hector responded with short, clipped answers, telling him to calm down, sit down, and perhaps then he would get the information he wanted so badly.

Trevor made a noise of absolute annoyance from his seat. Isaac always did have the worst timing (though in this case, it might have been the best, though Trevor would never admit it aloud). He could not _tell _the older boy to shut up, and so the little Belmont decided on doing the next best thing.

Calmly he swiped the goblet from out of Adrian's hand, where it had been forgotten, downed the rest of the water in one swift motion, and then turned, pulled his arm back, aimed, and lobbed the thing straight at Isaac.

His aim was true enough. The goblet bounced off the boy's shoulder and landed with a ringing _tang_! Isaac's gaze snapped around to glare at his attacker. Trevor matched the glare with one of his own, a small scowl across his features. The two remained that way for a moment.

From beside Trevor, Adrian heaved a great sigh and spoke, sounding utterly exasperated. "Now? _Really?_ The two of you are going to do this _now_ of all times?"

Hector took the distraction as an opportunity to strong-arm Isaac into sitting on his sister's bed, quietly scolding the boy.

Rosaly, having watched the scene unfold, decided that, perhaps, it was time for all of them to have a break. "I think…perhaps a meal would do us all some good, and would let us speak with the younger ones." She looked to their captor, clearly unsure at how her suggestion would be received. "Is that too much to ask of you?"

-|{D}|-

The elder vampire couldn't hold back a smile at the brief exchange of mean glares – and goblet slinging! – between his son and the hotheaded redhead. A healthy dose of rivalry had always been a powerful motivator, no matter day and age. It gave you something or someone - Dracul glanced at the blissfully sleeping Sypha, – to fight for.

Rosaly's question and motion was greeted with an understanding nod: yes, it was time to leave the children for a while. Have them think on the situation, ruminate, mull over. Comprehend the hidden meanings of his tale. He was in no hurry, and he was willing to offer the group all the time they needed… for this was their new home. The vampire had spent countless months perfecting this plan, spying and gathering information on the children and their guardians, and he would _not_ accept failure as an outcome.

"Of course." Dracul made sure to mask his thoughts with a slight smile. "I… I thank you all for listening and for your undivided attention. But now you need to be nourished, so you could gather up strength and recover from the ordeal I had unwittingly put you through." He rose to his feet and beckoned Augustus – who was loitering in the lengthening shadows of the chamber – to follow him out of the room. "Come, let us give the children their privacy."

And, as the vampires headed towards the exit, half-a-dozen hunched dwarf-like creatures skipped into the room, carrying silver trays with various treats and dishes. Meat, fish, steamed vegetables, grains, and bread, all were presented in front of the party, inviting the starving children to take a bite.

"Everything is just off the fire," Dracul said as the hunchbacks served the children their meals. "And I can assure you, nothing is poisoned and _never_ will be. I would test it myself, but, unfortunately, I cannot partake in the feast. Eat freely. And, don't worry, nothing will ever harm you here." He gestured at the spread food. "Eat."

With that said, he waited till the last dwarf removed itself from the chamber – their grotesque appearance could put off just about anyone – and closed the door behind him, leaving the kids inside entirely on their own. The Prince of Darkness hesitated for a moment before releasing the door knob out of his grip. When he turned around one could notice the empathy in his eyes slowly wither away.

"A decade under the Brotherhood's iron heel had certainly left irreparable damage," he told Augustus. "It will take much more than I had initially thought to counter all the harm done. But…" He clicked his tongue. "I am willing to do whatever it takes to undermine their faith into the Order. So that when they arrive at our doorstep, the children will not wish to return with them." The elder gave his friend an inquiring glance. "And August…?"

"Yes?" The former soldier fidgeted with his hands, razor-edged claws leaving faint, white furrows upon his skin.

"How are you holding up?" Dracul surveyed the warrior's grotesque appendages. "And I do apologize for the… inconvenience. I didn't know you would sprout _these_." He tugged at the warrior's gnarled wing. "Wait, why are you quivering?"

August sniffled, misery mixed together with dread apparent of his malformed features. "I-" he finally managed, gaze downward, "I don't wish to be hurt any more. I hurt, and this gut-churning sensation in my bowel-" He paused, hugging himself. "And the odor… the _goddamned _odor…! A toothsome morsel."

"Then come," the vampire retorted, beckoning for the lesser one to follow. "I will show you the fundamental principle of your new existence, and soon you will realize that you have nothing to fear here, for you were the _first_." A sly smirk quirked his lips. "An honor I can only bestow once."


	4. Chapter 3: Empathy

**Aliya: I apologize it took a whole "month" to post an update, but my RL was keeping me quite busy lately. University, job seeking, all that jazz which drained me completely of the "want" to proofread this chapter. Hence, this one is not as modified as chapters 1 &amp; 2\. Also, double sorry for those who are waiting for me to continue with Rebirth. I know it's been well over three months by this point, but my writing muse for that fic pretty much got devoured by this one. I have like... four pages written of chapter 13, and that's about it... but don't worry, I will get around it... eventually.**

* * *

-|{T}|-

The sudden appearance of the hunchbacks was met with various reactions of shock—as was to be expected, of course. Once they had made it clear that they were there to serve food and nothing more, however, they relaxed a bit—and stared at the meal before them in awe and no small amount of confusion. This was for them, lowly children of the Brotherhood? Even Adrian, with his wealthy father, or Isaac and Julia, who were lesser nobility, did not recognize some of the lavish dishes being placed before them. This…this was a meal fit for a king. Perhaps even kings did not dine this well.

As the dwarves and the vampires both retreated, the children allowed themselves to relax, to speak and act and react a little more freely. Out of direct observation, they were much more open.

Not completely, however. They all still glanced around them warily, as if waiting for some other hellish creature to come crawling out of the woodwork. While the vampire may have given his words that they would not be harmed, the possibility of creatures watching and listening at all times could not be ignored. Nor could the possibility of lies.

"Alright, what the devil is going on?" Isaac snarled, still seated by his sister. "Why was that foul thing in front of Belmont, and why are we here with it? Last I recall, it was trying to roast us like pigs."

"We'll explain everything in a moment, Isaac," Hector sighed, helping Rosaly to her feet so that she might partake in the feast before them. "Once the others are awake. Rouse your sister, would you?"

"Julia doesn't need to hear this. The runt shouldn't, either." Trevor gave Isaac an indignant glare, as he ever did when Grant was referred to as a runt. Isaac scowled in return. "What's the matter? Nothing to say for yourself? Usually you'd've snarled some petty thing at me by now…"

"Isaac." Adrian's voice cut through the redhead's speech, sharp and cold. "He cannot speak. Leave him alone."

"What? Why—"

"I cannot blame him…I would not want to speak, were I told my father was a monster." A new voice cut in as Sypha rose from her bed.

"…You heard some of the conversation, then." Rosaly noted, a bit taken aback by the revelation that Sypha had been awake and said nothing.

"Yes. I heard the beast's tale. …You do not actually believe him, do you?"

"Some I do, some I do not," Adrian replied, pulling Trevor to his feet and turning to Grant's bed.

"You can't honestly believe a monster's words, Adrian. I thought you smarter than that!" Isaac snapped, which received nothing but a set of scalding glares from both the elder squires.

"Aye, he _is_ a monster, and he could have had us dead at any moment that suits him, yet he spares us and coddles us instead. Why is that, do you think? His reasons answer that well enough—except you do not even know them, because you were sleeping. Now wake your sister."

"I told you, Julia doesn't need to hear!"

"Julia is as much a prisoner as the rest of us, Isaac!" Hector growled, the slightest bit of annoyance in his tone. "Ignorance will not help her here. She deserves to know. If you will not wake her, than I will."

And that ended that—Julia and Grant were quickly roused, and the eight of them partook of the feast before them cautiously as the elders laid out the situation to the younger ones.

That they were distressed was an understatement, though they calmed relatively quickly under the hands of the elder children, who reasoned that they could not find a solution to this if they did not keep their wits about them.

It was about this point that the group started to feel comfortable with spreading out and poking around the room they found themselves in, trying to find where the dwarves had come from, where the exits were, where their things were and the like.

Conversation spun as they took stock of their situation—what each of them remembered from before they passed out, what they could find, what they could bring to bear that might confirm or deny the vampire's tale. It seemed that most of what they knew—which wasn't much, and they knew it—only supported the dragon's claims, the only exception being the Brotherhood's version of the story.

Rosaly took the time to look over each of them, checking to see that the wounds were properly cared for. She confirmed that yes, the vampire had given them the best care available—even for Trevor, Isaac, and Grant, who were by far the most injured, having dared to challenge the inferno head-on. Their burns would take some time to heal—perhaps a month or more.

Of course, conversation invariably cycled back to their captivity, no matter how it diverted.

"So, you mean to tell me that this powerful vampire has kidnapped the lot of us because it believes Trevor is his spawn?"

"Hey, 's not Trevor's fault, don' make it sound like it is!" That was little Grant, protesting the abuse of his oldest friend.

Trevor merely sat, unable to contribute due to his lack of voice, and stared to the side. He could not help but feel like Isaac was right. Had he not been close to any of them, the vampire—he could not yet reconcile him and Gabriel as one being, despite it all—would have left them alone. Was that not what the dragon had said? And so, he did share some of the blame, and he felt miserable for it. What sort of friend damned another to captivity by a creature of darkness? Certainly not a worthwhile one.

As if sensing the boy's thoughts, Rosaly spoke up, her voice a gentle breeze in the harsh setting they'd found themselves in. "Do not blame yourself, Trevor. You had no way of stopping this, nor of knowing it was to come—you are not at fault. Don't feel guilt for actions that were not your own."

He managed to smile at that, though it was a weak one.

"…He said we were not prisoners, yes? Do you think he'll let us return home?" Julia's voice was meek and worried, even as she sat close to her brother.

"I doubt it. Why would he take us if he had any intention of setting us free soon after?"

"Aye, Adrian is right. If we're to get out of here, it will be by our own power."

"…You think we can escape this place?"

"Where are we, anyways? All I can see out the windows is distant mountains. Has he locked us in a tower?"

"I'm sure he'll be happy to tell us of our new home later," Adrian remarked, the term _new home _spoken with a slight bit of contempt, "however, since I've no intention of upsetting our _host_ while we are at his mercy, I suggest we drop the subject. He may very well be listening at the door."

That silence the lot of them, as they all turned to the exit the vampires had taken. Was there someone there, listening to them even now? Were they really trapped in this room?

Trevor, who had not attempted to make any sort of entrance into the conversation until this point, decided that he wanted an answer. In fact, he wanted a great deal of answers, and the vampire was the only one that could provide them. If they were honest answers, he could not say—but he wished to ask regardless.

Was there someone outside? The boy assumed as much, truthfully. If the vampire did not want them leaving, then he would watch for attempts at escape. If he cared for their well-being, he would have some servant or another close by in case one of them was more ill than previously thought.

Were they locked in? Well, there was one simple way to find that out.

Pushing himself to his feet, the little Belmont marched towards the door that Dracul and his servant vampire had used, ignoring the protests of his companions. Adrian was quick to follow, swearing to himself about Trevor being as foolish as ever, but that was nothing new. That's what Adrian always did when Trevor decided it was time to simply act.

Padding calmly to the door, he paused long enough to look it over. He could not see anything indicating it was unsafe, except for the part where it was a door leading into the depths of a powerful vampire's dwelling, but, well, sod it all. Sitting here stewing on the problem did nothing for any of them, and if any could get answers from the vampire, it would be him.

So, heedless to the warnings of his friends, Trevor took the knob and attempted to open the door and poke his head into the hallway beyond.

-|{D}|-

Delilah yawned, a pale pink tongue darting out lick her upturned nose.

The fruit bat – an uncommon sight, especially in these cold regions of the world – hung upside down from the corrugated ceiling of the guest room, ears twitching at the smallest of the noises thrumming through the air.

The shadowy familiar had been instructed with a task: to supervise the children while they were on their own and, so far, they, luckily, remained in one place… a place where they belonged now.

Delilah immediately perked up at the sound of the door creaking and watched as the wild wisps of brown hair – the scion, flashed through her mind – appeared through the tiniest crack. Soon enough, the boy emerged completely, seemingly ignoring the howling screams that followed him wherever he went, and began to head towards the door in the end of the hallway. Obviously, he sought answers to his questions.

The familiar chirped shrilly, calling for the boy's attention.

-|{T}|-

The door opened with no problems—though it did creak a bit—and revealed an empty hallway. …Odd, Trevor would have sworn that something would be lurking out here, keeping an eye on them all.

Still, perhaps it was simply better hidden than that. Oh well. He would take the opportunity to explore. Maybe he'd find some paper, a pen, and ink, if he was lucky. If nothing else, it would take his mind off the ache of his burns and the distress of his friends.

Adrian laid a hand on his shoulder, muttering about how he was a little fool, but did not stop him. Instead the blond called back to the others that the hallway was empty—strangely decorated, but entirely empty. Their courage fortified by Trevor's success, they began to split off to explore their surroundings more readily. Well, most of them did—Sypha and Julia elected to stay behind, and Isaac refused to be parted from his sister. Hector and Rosaly took the exit opposite of the one at which Trevor stood, and Grant hurried to catch up with his friends.

Trevor had taken the opportunity to edge forwards, peering about the hallway. He had no idea what sort of strange creature decorated this place, but it was so odd—childish, almost, and yet somehow still sinister. Was this what that vampire thought children would like?

Ah, there was another thing he could ask, though he'd likely forget it by the time he was done with the important questions.

It was about then that the squeaking started, and he whipped around, trying to find the source of the noise. Again he wished he had his cross, but the vampire had taken it with him when he'd retreated. They were helpless against any creatures that came upon them.

Thankfully, this did not seem to be anything malicious—just a bat, hanging from the ceiling. He pointed it out to his friends as they approached, questioning looks on their faces.

"A bat?"

"Of course there's a bat, Grant. Did you really think we'd not find bats in a vampire's home? Be sensible."

Trevor rolled his eyes even as the sounds of Grant kicking Adrian in the shins came from behind him, and stared up at the bat. It was rather hard to see in the darkness, but it has his attention. Now what was it cheeping about? He couldn't speak bat. He also couldn't speak at all, but he didn't expect a bat to know that. Was the bat trying to talk to him, or was it some sort of strange flying alarm system?

Well, if it didn't proffer an answer shortly, he'd go back to exploring.

-|{D}|-

Delilah squeaked and squealed, unknowingly to the boys, alarming her master of their whereabouts. Whilst they still could be found in the immediate area of the guest house, the children were hastily approaching one of the exists out of the tower. The kids couldn't leave their new home without the Prince's permission!

Yet, she was but a sentry, a scout; she did not possess any means of postponing the boys' progress. She could only alert those higher than her. Wait, yes, she could distract them, of course! That could buy her lord some time. Yes, indeed.

With a brief yelp, the bat abandoned her post and launched herself at the brunet. She lodged her tiny claws into the soft cloth of Trevor's sleeve with a triumphant tweet, and hastily used all of her limbs to climb onto his shoulder. Hopefully, the boy wouldn't find the heart to hit or shake her off – who knows what could happen to the familiar's brittle bones? She could be extraordinary, but certainly could not boast of the same physical stature as the more feral, blood-fed spawn in the castle's cellars.

The bat continued to chirp nonsensically, drawing the boys' attention to herself. She had to be careful: each and every of her movements could be interpreted as an attack or a harmful lunge. And, if so happened, she surely would be squashed like a vermin. Now, that would be unfortunate – she was her master's favorite, after all.

A faint scrape, a hushed whisper and the shadows twisted, contorted before the familiar's eyes, gradually swelling into growing into a humanoid shape. Dusting himself off, Dracul stepped out of the gloom, and the bat let out an affectionate squeak. The vampire stretched out his hand and the familiar readily landed on it and spread her leathery wings. Delilah nearly purred when she felt herself being stroked along her fur.

"I brought you some vellum," Dracul uttered fondly and offered his son a neatly stacked heap of paper, "a quill, and some ink. I've been told that your speech _would_ return, with time, but until that, you could express your comments and concerns on this." Once again, he stooped on one knee, netting himself a faint squeak from Delilah as she crawled up his arm and onto his shoulder. "And I saw you and Delilah… Do you like animals, Trevor?"

-|{T}|-

Just as Trevor began to turn away, the bat swooped down and latched to his sleeve, startling all three of the boys. Still, the small creature made no immediate move to harm anyone, and so Trevor was reluctant to simply brush it away. He had never felt comfortable showing any unkindness to an animal—they never really showed unkindness to him, after all—and he had a soft spot for creatures of the sky, even ones reputed to be cursed by nature. Besides, the little thing looked so fragile, like if he flicked it away he would break it.

Trevor didn't have the heart to break a creature that could not even fight back.

Grant and Adrian approached, each looking over the bat—Grant with curiosity, and Adrian with caution. None of them had ever been this close to such a creature in their life, they only ever saw them darting about in the night sky. Grant couldn't help but make a noise of fascination—the bat was a lot cuter looking than the boy had ever thought they would be.

The thing continued to clamor around on Trevor's shoulder, and squeaked insistently. The weight wasn't enough to cause more than the faintest of aches in his damaged limbs, and the cries not over loud. If anything, the bat was being adorable. Trevor was almost tempted to pet it.

And then he caught the twisting of shadows from the corner of his eye. When he turned to look up, there was Dracul, and the bat launched itself from his shoulder with a shrill cry.

The sudden movement of the bat stole the attention of the other two, and they spun to find the vampire behind them. Poor little Grant all but shrieked in shock, hiding behind his larger friends. Adrian and Trevor's reactions were much more muted, but the pair of them had instinctively slipped into combat stances, in case they needed to defend themselves. Once they realized just who they were looking at, they did not relax.

Grant's shock caught the attention of the others still inside the room—Isaac could be heard snarling in the background, and it sounded as if the redhead were readying to make his way into the scene—something would likely end badly, considering his current temperament.

And so Adrian gently pushed Grant back the way they had come, whispering to him as he did so, something about calming Isaac down before he did something stupid-and a quick warning to Trevor to bolt if it looked like things were going to turn for the worst.

Meanwhile, Trevor watched the vampire approach. The gentle demeanor and affectionate voice did little to coax him into lowering his guard—the paper, however, was another story. To be given back the ability to communicate with some semblance of ease was no small thing.

And so he allowed the vampire to approach him, and slowly reached out to take the paper, like a wild dog slowly reaches for meat from a human's hand. The boy took great care not to let his fingers touch the vampire's—he was not yet ready for any sort of physical contact. He would not be for some time.

Once the paper was secure in his hands, he took a step back, distancing himself from Dracul. The vampire was being kind, and may have claimed him as kin, but Trevor could not yet return the favor. The memory of the fire and slaughter was still fresh, and the betrayal at the thought of the father he had so missed being a monster too deep.

Besides, there were other questions he needed answered.

His expression was guarded as Dracul posed the question. At the mention of the name Delilah, his gaze flicked to the bat—he assumed that was what the vampire was referring to—and then back to Dracul. There was a pause, and then, after a moment, a slow nod.

He would not lie about his love for the creatures of the wild, nor the wild in general. Nor could he deny his adoration for those blessed with flight.

Silently he stared at Dracul, wondering if he should attempt to write. He'd have to sit and place the paper on the floor, or perhaps hold it up to the wall—both were terribly inconvenient. The floor would be easier, but he didn't really want to just sit.

Maybe the vampire would be able to figure out his need for answers without him having to write anything. He had the first time, after all.

-|{D}|-

The solemn look in Trevor's eyes was unambiguous and it was quite clear: the boy demanded an explanation, a justification of the vampire's actions.

Why had he chosen a tactic which had led to his firstborn's loss of voice? Why the massacre? Why the bloodshed? He could have simply abducted Trevor from under the Brotherhood's wing without arousing suspicion or challenging them to a battle. Even the weakest of vampires could vaporize their bodies into a mist and sneak through the ranks of mortals without them noticing. And, yet, he had chosen this more direct, more devastating approach which, in turn, had partly robbed the children of their innocence.

Hurt, past grudges, betrayal… all burrowed deep beneath his skin, a discomfort, an itch even he could not ignore. And the Order… well, they had to _make up_ for their treachery and deception. Did he feel remorse for his actions? The vampire chuckled at the sheer absurdity of that question.

"No doubt, you seek answers," Dracul concluded, hastily breaking off his laugh. "About earlier, yes?" He clicked his tongue before continuing.

"I suspected that if I simply had approached you without alarming any guards or soldiers, you wouldn't have cooperated. And couldn't bring myself to utilize force, especially against someone so young… so I… well, incapacitated you and delivered you here. I had to gather you all in one place, somewhere tranquil enough for me to tell my tale without anyone interfering or eavesdropping. And the Order's grounds… they were not the best place for that."

-|{T}|-

The laugh made his eyes narrow, and the answer he was given had his mouth pulling down into a scowl, turning his expression into one of the most unimpressed faces he had made in his entire life.

Did the vampire think him so simple? Trevor was almost insulted.

The vampire had obviously been watching them for some time—and thus, would know about their propensity for leaving the noise of the fortress behind, of wandering the forest or spending long afternoons training on a familiar hilltop. Why not approach them then, as a harmless vagabond, a storyteller, and win their trust?

And he was unwilling to utilize force? Preposterous. What had the flames been, then? Certainly he had not hit any of them directly, but this creature could not be so foolish as to discount that as anything but an attack. Certainly it had been interpreted as one—what else should they have taken it as, if not corralling prey for sport?

If he was worried about cooperation, why not slip in and steal them away while they were sleeping? He could have done that, with no small amount of ease, and yet he chose the path that he would have known to wake them, to have them flee and require him to run them down like a wolf runs down a deer.

He gave a soft snort of contempt, which, coupled with his stare, expressed his opinion of the matter well enough.

Still, that was but one question of many, and the method of the vampire's answers were almost a test in the boy's mind—a test to see how far one could trust his words.

He tapped a finger against the paper in his arms, wondering once more if he should simply sit to write and have done with it. Certainly it would be easier to intone what, exactly, he wished to know, rather than leveling a glare and hoping the vampire was as eerily capable of reading his emotions as he had been thus far.

Slowly he knelt, cringing a bit as he shifted and his burns ached, and set the inkwell down. Opening it carefully, he dipped the quill in, and then, using his knee to brace the paper, began to write.

His writing was sloppy. His fingers were shaking a bit—he was still afraid of the vampire before him, despite the reassurances and calm demeanor—and his coordination was not at its peak, thank to his injuries, and so already childish handwriting became something else entirely.

Still, he managed to scrawl out what he wished, and the paper was unceremoniously proffered at the vampire, held up so he could either read it or take it, whichever he wished. Trevor did not care.

**Why did you murder knights whose only crime was being as blind as you were?**

It was a silly question—the vampire was a monster, plain and simple, and Trevor knew it. That was reason enough for the creature before him to slaughter innocents. The only reason his friends had been spared was because of their bond with him, and he only because of the blood in his veins.

Still. The answer he was given would be an interesting thing to hear.

-|{D}|-

Curious, the vampire collected the smudged in ink piece of paper, red eyes quickly scanning the contents of the writing. It took him a few moments to understand the meaning of the single sentence scrawled across the vellum's rough surface. His visage darkened as he lowered the paper and gazed somberly at his only child. What could he say to such an argument against himself? Admit his mistake? Try tricking Trevor by feeding him an untruth? Falsify set facts?

As blind as you were?

_You act as if blind to the truth. _The hated phrase glared back at the vampire, burning a hole in his being, like a searing-hot metal poker to one's skin. And it _hurt._ And one thing he had learned from his journey, is that converting your suffering into hatred gives you _strength_ to go on.

Pinning down a powerful urge to bare his teeth in a snarl, Dracul looked away – hiding his expression from Trevor – before speaking up, voice hushed, yet calm.

"No one is blameless in this world," he said quietly. "Everyone has some debt or another to repay and I'm simply rounding up what is mine. The Brotherhood, the Order, you grew up believing to be above suspicion… is just an illusion. They are no saints, and if they were, the Founders would have realized their mistake before abandoning their shells and leaving us all behind to suffer for their crimes!"

His tone rose in pitch and volume; he battled it down, huffing softly. "And you… they stole you from me. To use as an instrument, a tool against one of their own, the one who had sacrificed everything so _they could __**live**__, _blissfully ignorant of the unfolded events. I had nothing, but rage steadily building up inside. Rage for the ones who have ruined my _life._ And that anger had to be freed. Of course, all those responsible had to pay for their arrogance and stupidity. Money and jewelry cannot repay a due owed in blood, in pain, in torment."

Dracul paused, nostrils flaring. "I know you. You too have a welling desire to punish the one responsible for your mother's premature demise, don't you? And you will not turn back on it until the murderer's been punished."

-|{T}|-

Trevor had not really known what to expect, facing the vampire alone after asking such a rigged question. He had been bracing himself for an attack. Certainly he had provoked one.

No attack came. It was…puzzling, how quietly Dracul replied. But, then again, Trevor knew well that rage could just as easily be quiet and sinister as loud and overt. His own was typically quiet, until he was pushed too far. Perhaps that was something he had inherited.

_No one is blameless._ No, he had not thought that—but still, ignorance did not justify murder. Still, Trevor had not expected a justification—not one that he would understand or accept. That had not been the point.

The point he had been after was driven home to him when Dracul fought to lower his voice. The boy had thought he would get shouted at, or even attacked, for daring to ask what he did. Yet, the vampire showed a remarkable amount of control, better than even many of the mentors the boy had had. If he did not lash out when so blatantly provoked…then Trevor had to assume that his word that they were in no danger from him would hold.

His shoulders relaxed a fraction at the conclusion.

The boy flinched quite visibly at the claim that the vampire had had nothing. Was that true? Trevor did not think such. He himself was deprived of home, family, of a great deal of warmth and comfort, and still he had found something to call his own. Had the vampire but paused to look about him, he might have found much the same, if only in the form of his young son.

But Dracul had not seen fit to look, instead choosing to wallow in his hate.

_Hate._ That was familiar territory, and Dracul woke the sleeping hate in the boy with mere words. His stare sharpened, matching glare for glare, scowl for scowl, at the mention of his mother's murder and his own oath of vengeance. He was not surprised that the vampire knew of it. Trevor had never hid his desire to carve his mother's name into the very heart of the creature that had struck the killing blow.

Agitated though the boy was at being told that the vampire knew him—the creature did not, _could not_, not when he had only recently deigned fit to enter into the boy's life—he wrote no more, knowing that Dracul had a point. Vengeance was something they both thirsted for, and the both of them thought it was justice.

It was a troubling realization.

It also seemed that the vampire was attempting to make a point with it. Slowly Trevor began to move the pen, carefully tracing out letters and offering the paper to Dracul once more.

**You mean to say that the Brotherhood is responsible for Mother's murder.**

It was not a question, and yet at the same time, it was. Trevor did not know the circumstances of Marie's demise, despite his continued inquiries on the matter. No one thought it important for her orphaned son to know.

Earlier the vampire had said much the same things the elders had, when he'd pestered them for answers. Now he waited to see if the similarities would continue to hold true, watching the vampire with a cautious, morbid curiosity. He was not going to like what he heard.

Trevor wanted to hear it anyways.

-|{D}|-

Dracul fell silent as he watched Trevor scribble down a second sentence, rancor together with concern threatening to overcome his mind. He reached out for the paper, fingers trembling – from rage? from grief? – and skimmed through the text. As he finished reading it, he felt his shoulders tense and relax at the same time. The Brotherhood and Marie's murder…

He took a moment to glance his son over: stoic, determined… Trevor's front reminded him of someone else. Of… of himself… coming back to the day the vampire still possessed a reflection. And the boy's features were writhed, gnarled, an expression of intense focus evident on his face. An expression of barely contained hatred. An anger pure enough, raw, unbridled, and directed at someone beside the elder. The corners of Dracul's mouth quirked into a fleeting, warm smile before it melted back into a familiar frown.

"I'm afraid so," no sympathy surfaced through his voice as he put the sheet aside. "But it's… far more complicated than just that." One could see his gaze became distant and glassy, akin to that of a doll. "It's just… 'Twas I who stroke the killing blow."

The vampire rose to his feet and moved away from the perplexed boy. "The Lords of Shadow were a cunning lot, that I must admit. Capable of spinning whole spiderwebs of intrigues, plights and sinister plots. One of the three, the Necromancer Zobek, had been passing himself as a warrior of the Brotherhood for a _long _time, posing as a master duelist and a mentor. A fiendish sorcerer right beneath the Order's noses! Right beneath _my _nose."

He let out a whistling sigh. "Zobek had used a diabolic artifact, a mask, to snare my mind and string my body, like a puppet. Then he made me…" he paused, a grimace twisting his face. "Made me kill her. He lifted the curse the day after, only to continue and influence me when he so desired. And when I, eventually, cornered him, when Devil made his entrance. Whilst we battled, Zobek managed to fake his demise and escaped with his own hide."

The vampire glanced at Trevor over his shoulder. "The Brotherhood, as it appears now, may be partly responsible for Marie's death, but that slimy betrayer, a Founder, is… is the catalyst that set things in motion! That day, I swore my vengeance on the bloody bastard… I _will_ find you Zobek. Even if that takes me nine hundred lives, I will find you."

An icy chill burned him from inside, and Dracul suppressed a shudder. His hand instinctively went to his chest, fingers tracing against the cold metal of his old weapon. Now shattered, broken beyond any repair, the legendary Vampire Killer lay on his palm, a lone memento of the long-dead past. Its body may be snapped in two, but the elder hoped Trevor would still recognize it. Hoped that the knowledge of the most powerful of weapons was still alive in the minds of the people.

Upbeat – where had the mood come from? – Dracul offered the relic to the boy.

-|{T}|-

The trembling fingers were not lost on the boy, though he could not identify why they shook so. Was Dracul's rage so close to breaking free that his own form shook from it, or was it the pain of memory? Trevor would likely never know.

When the vampire looked him over, he continued to stare, patiently awaiting whatever answer he was given. What was the creature thinking, as his eyes swept over him? What did he see? Was it a pawn that crouched before him, an ignorant child full of impertinent questions, or did the vampire truly look at him and see a son, someone to be cherished and cared for?

The smile, fleeting though it was, caught Trevor's attention. Had he imagined it? It had not been the first time the vampire had smiled at him, but in this situation, he had expected no warmth. Yet, there it had been. That smile had almost seemed…proud.

A small part of the boy, the lonely orphan who desired nothing more than the pride of absent parents, stirred in his heart, even as his glare was softened by his confusion.

Trevor had been expecting for Dracul to lay the blame of Marie Belmont's murder squarely at the feet of the Brotherhood. It would have made perfect sense, to take the hate that so clearly existed in the boy and try and twist it to match his own.

The answer he was given was something he never would have fathomed receiving. The utter shock on his face was clear—it escaped in a soft noise, even as he tried to make his voice _work_, to _demand _clarification. What sort of foul trickery was this? His mother's murderer stood before him—and claimed to be his father, her husband, and lamented her death still.

Possession. Gabriel had been possessed and murdered Marie. That is what he was being told. Did he believe it? He could not say. In some ways, he did not want to—for what child would wish to believe that the father he had longed to know had butchered the mother he held dear? And yet, in some ways, he wanted it to be true—for if his father had been possessed, than he was absolved of the guilt, in the boy's mind. _A person under the influence of a demon cannot be held responsible for their actions, because their actions are no longer their own,_ Augustus had told him. Distantly Trevor wondered if his godfather had known the truth when he'd shared that bit of wisdom. If that was his way of trying to keep the boy from hating his own kin.

But that was not the whole of it, even! The tale that the vampire had spun before the lot of the children had included an instance of possession, as well—the death of a young girl, and then the duel with her grieving guardian. Dracul laid the blame of that on the necromancer, to set the knight up for failure in his moment of triumph. Was that what he meant when he said this foul thing had continued to manipulate him?

And suddenly, the vampire had turned to face him once more, offering the splintered pieces of some object. Trevor stared at it for a moment, not comprehending, before he slowly slipped his quill back into the ink and placed his paper on the ground. Slowly the boy edged forwards and reached out, small hands grasping the object and pulling it to him.

He gasped as he recognized what he was holding. Gandolfi's legendary combat cross, the one his own had been modeled after. He'd heard it referred to as the "Vampire Killer," a name given to it in a faraway village where its wielder had carved through the Vampire Queen's legions alone.

That cross had vanished with his father, not two days after his birth.

Trevor's mind was reeling. He was holding _the_ combat cross, _the_ Vampire Killer, cracked and broken as it was. This was his father's weapon—proffered to him by a man that claimed to be his father himself—who also claimed to have struck the blow that had robbed him of his mother. What was he supposed to do? He had no idea how to handle the emotions that were roiling inside him—pain, fear, rage, hate, despair, joy even—and he could do little but stare at the broken weapon in his hands with wide eyes and, perhaps, attempt to stem a new wave of tears.

A realization hit him. He was holding a weapon that—despite being splintered and shattered—held more power than even his own. Dracul had told him, not an hour before, that he was the only one that could drive the spike of a cross through the vampire's heart and end him. Even now the boy's eyes were drawn to the crack where the haft had split—there was a sharp edge there, one that would be perfect to use as a makeshift stake.

He could end it all right here and now.

Trevor had every reason to want to slay the dragon in front of him. The vampire claimed to have murdered his mother, had butchered his way through the boy's home, torched a forest and instilled terror in the hearts of so many that had done nothing to deserve it, held the boy and his friends hostage even now. His hands shifted on the weapon, coming to grip it much as he would have gripped his own cross. It was his every right to slaughter the beast that stood before him. He could save his friends from the nightmare they had been dragged into. All it would take was one swift strike—the vampire did not seem to suspect the danger, was not prepared to counter. It would be so _simple._

And yet.

The vampire had kept his word thus far—the food had been fresh and filling, and they were all the better for it. No creature had disturbed them, despite the forms of strange beasts they had spied through the windows. Clearly many foul things lurked in the great expanse of these towering spires, the sort of creatures that they could not hope to face untrained and unarmed. If Dracul was truly the only thing keeping the monsters from descending and ripping them all apart, would slaying the vampire truly save his friends? They had no weapons, and no idea where to find such things. The combat cross he now held was broken—it might serve as a stake in a sudden strike, but it would not protect him against beasts that were expecting resistance. If he cut down Dracul where he stood…he would be signing the death sentence of the family he had found for himself.

He would never get another opportunity like this, he reminded himself. It was now or never.

Slowly his tight grip on the haft of the weapon relaxed, and he slowly reached for the second piece, holding one in each hand and trying to figure out how they should fit together.

He would not strike. He could not take the risk, knowing the odds that his friends would face. Better to have them alive and safe in captivity than to damn them all to a painful death. Twas selfish of him, to want them alive and close, but he was yet a selfish child.

Trevor refused to consciously acknowledge the other reason he could not raise his hand to fell the dragon—that he could not bring himself to commit patricide, no matter the crimes leveled at the man. Had he been older and his heart more hardened to the harsh realities of the world, perhaps, but not here, and not now.

Ah, there it was—he could see how the pieces fit. Holding them together, he could almost fool himself into thinking they were whole once more. Had he been less emotionally distressed at the truths that had been revealed to him, he might have found it fitting, that the weapon was as broken as its wielder now was.

As it were, all he could do was wish he possessed the means to put them back together—man and weapon both. Slowly Trevor clutched the cross to his chest, resting over his heart, hugging the cool metal. It was all the boy could really think to do. He had nothing to say, no actions to take, save to hold this splintered piece of the father he missed so dearly close to his heart, head bowed and eyes shut against tears, and pray the man knew what he was thinking even when the boy did not.

-|{D}|-

A myriad of staggering emotions flashed in the vampire's mind, forcing him into a paralyzed, dazed state. All he could do is watch… watch as his son pulled his shattered relic closer, hugging it as if it were a doll. Several tears were frozen in the corners of the boy's eyes and he could hear low sobs escape his throat, in tact with his heartbeat. What was he thinking? Did he believe him, believe his tale? Or something else entirely surged through the youth's damaged, battered mind?

Trevor was distraught and confused: that Dracul could see from his expressions and body language. Slowly, as if moving through a jelly, the vampire knelt before the crying boy. And there, at his eye level, the elder found himself at loss. How to tend to a distressed and troubled child? How to soothe his fears and make him believe there was a second chance? How did other fathers watch over their young during times like these?

Sadly, he did not possess an answer to any of those questions. He had never known his parents, a bastard orphan abandoned on the doorstep of the Brotherhood. And when he became conscious enough to understand that, he couldn't help but question… _why?_ Why had he been given away? The only one, his teacher, Valeriy, who had taken the child under his wing, could not replace the same desperate craving for affection he'd been robbed of, no matter how the old man had tried. Marie was the only family he truly needed.

Marie was a strong woman, independent, yet, she suffered through many disagreements and quarrels in her life… disputes severe enough to leave her crying for the rest of the day. Back then, a sincere kiss could make her feel better; it would dry her tears out and she would doze off into a dreamless slumber. She would heal. Now…

Dracul scarcely realized what he was doing: he pried open Trevor's numb fingers and let the remains of the Vampire Killer fall to the floor with a clank. He collected the shivering, thin frame of his son into his arms and carefully lifted him off the ground. He could only hope that the boy would understand the earnestness behind his actions, the goodwill. The vampire rocked the youth from side to side and the overall sensation was… strange to say the least. Never had he held anyone like this, much less his own son of ten years old, a boy he'd been presented with after eight years filled with torture and grief.

"It will be alright," he whispered shakily, stroking the boy's back. "I gave your mother an oath that I would protect you. That nothing will ever harm you again."

-|{T}|-

The boy was unaware of the vampire's movements, lost as he was in his own dismay. He clutched the cross a little tighter, fighting back tears and failing, oblivious to the world around him.

Until something cold pried at his own hands.

He hadn't the time to react—by the time he'd realized just what was happening, Trevor had been swept into the arms of Dracul and cradled carefully, as if he were something terribly fragile, something precious.

He had never been held like this before. Certainly he'd been embraced by his friends and by his godfather, but those had not been so…tender.

Was this what it felt like, to have a father?

The man was cold—he shivered a bit at the chill, unused to flesh that was not warm with the thrum of life. He did not like it. People were supposed to be _warm_, were supposed to have the faint rhythm of a beating heart. There was no such thing in Dracul's still chest.

Then Dracul's words reached him, shaky and quiet and full of an emotion he'd never heard directed at him before. Nothing would ever hurt him again? Would that really be true? The vampire had kept all of his oaths so far, could the boy really trust him to keep this one as well?

Did some part of Gabriel Belmont live still?

In that moment, the facade of cool detachment Trevor had been struggling to maintain shattered like glass, and he sobbed aloud, hands reaching to grab the edge of the crimson coat. The role of knight-in-training that he'd been trying to assume was abandoned, and in its place he became what he truly was—a child, lost and confused and frightened, seeking comfort.

He had not cried like this for a very long time. The Brotherhood frowned on such wanton displays of emotion—certainly a babe would weep from time to time, but a squire was expected to keep their emotions in check, much as a knight would have to. Trevor had not been allowed to express his sorrows and fears so freely, for few were the knights that were willing to deal with an inconsolable child.

Now that the dam had burst, the boy could not have stopped himself if he wished—but such thoughts were beyond him, now, along with most others. All he knew was the subtle rocking motion and the gentle hand that rubbed at his back, trying to sooth him.

He had never been held like this before—only seen such displays from a distance, and known that they were not his to have. Perhaps, on occasion, he had indulged in a daydream, that one day a grizzled warrior would ride through the gates of the fortress, the Vampire Killer on his hip, and come to embrace the boy as a son.

This was nothing like what he had imagined, but Trevor took it anyways, clinging with everything he had. The lonely little orphan that had once kept watch on the gates of the fortress, attempting to spot a lone knight riding home, would do no less.

-|{D}|-

The vampire continued to rock the shuddering form of his son, desperately trying to pacify the boy's anguish and grief. Eventually, Trevor's weeping slowly abated and turned into unsteady hiccups, until only strangled sniffs dithered his body. Dracul placed the child back onto the floor and knelt before him, eyes wide and earnest.

"It's alright." He let his arms slide down the boy's sharp shoulders. His hand fluttered to Trevor's face and wiped out the child's tears with the sleeve of his scarlet coat. "Everything is fine. Now… I understand this all is hard to take in, so much of information, but I understand what you crave for now. Your friends' company. They're just outside the door, waiting. I can hear their heavy breaths." He smiled softly. "Go to them, tell them everything. And if you need me, just call, and I _will _come."

As Trevor toddled away and disappeared behind the carved doors, the vampire let out a stifled breath. He needed time to stomach everything he had on his mind… just like his boy.

-|{T}|-

It took Trevor a moment to actually process what was happening, what was being spoken to him. He stared at Dracul, blinking a bit in confusion when the vampire moved to wipe his tears away. Perhaps, when the vampire smiled at him, there was the barest twitch of his lips, a ghost of his own smile, if only for a fleeting moment.

Ah, it seemed their conversation was over. Still, Trevor knew Dracul was right—if he spent too long out here alone with the vampire, his friends would get worried. They also deserved the answers he could now give them…and the boy was feeling rather worn out. The emotional roller-coaster he had just gone through had sapped him of much of his energy.

Quietly he padded away, pausing to cap the inkwell and lift it, the quill, and the stack of paper in his arms. He then slowly pushed the door open—pausing one last time to peer over at the vampire that was his father—before vanishing inside.


	5. Interlude: Encounters

_Year of Our Lord, 14__th__ of June 1058. Brotherhood of Light Compound "Dawndrift"_

"Commander."

Gauntlet-clad fingers pressed against his temples, knight-commander of a battalion of one-hundred and fifty Brotherhood knights, Ser Valeriy Alajos jolted his grizzled head. With a choked breath halting in his throat, the aged chevalier bounced to feet. "Exarch...!"

"At ease, commander." The bishop raised his wizened hand. "I just want to talk, Valeriy. Without trivial formalities. May I?" Volpe motioned at the bench of the refectory.

"Yes, yes, of course," the knight stuttered and shifted to the side, bringing his mug alongside him.

The arch-priest sat down, his hooded gray stare ardent. "I believe you have already heard of the foray on one of our auxiliary strongholds."

"Yes." Valeriy nodded, grave. "A pageboy delivered a missive today. It had caught us completely unprepared. Thirty-eight butchered, over five dozen maimed, twelve missing, and eight of them are children!" The commander's voice dropped to a rustle. "Volpe, be truthful... do you know what that creature _was_? What could have waltzed straight into the heart of our compound and not be hindered by our protective enchantments?"

The reverend shook his head. "No. Although, I do have my suspicions."

"For Almighty's sake, father, tell me!" Valeriy exclaimed, "the lives of our brothers are at stake. With that... that abominable thing wandering the countryside we must not be squeamish—"

"A vampire," said Volpe, brow furrowed in a scowl.

"A... a vampire?" Ser Alajos echoed, aghast. "But... but, it's not possible! They've all perished. Their fiendish Queen is no more!"

The arch-priest gave him an incredulous glance. "Verily, Valeriy, you should know better than anyone that as long as one blood-parasite survives it is bound to spread its condition unto others."

"True, but-" The knight paused, fingers brushing against the waxed surface of his cup. "But _how?_ And why? Gossip and rumors are one thing, but for such a beast to tear into our ranks with such audacity and then withdraw without a scratch... Father, no common vampire could achieve this! Not with an entire cohort of foot-soldiers roused from their beds! Perhaps, 'twas an ungodly demon or an abyssal spawn-"

"No," Volpe cut him off. "Eyewitnesses inform us that it was of humanoid complexion, around six feet tall, garbed in what appeared to be a maroon greatcoat."

"So? Carmilla's brood are of grotesque appearance, winged and wretched. And they always, _always_ travel in throngs. Plus, as Ser Cadril had eloquently put it, 'twas 'a being of sentient shadows' that burst from its frame."

The exarch nodded. "You are quite correct, my friend. We're dealing with no mediocre vampire." A sigh parted his shriveled lips as he murmured under his breath, "it must be _him_. He grew wakeful and alert sooner than we had expected. How could this happen-"

"Him?" Valeriy's eyes narrowed to slits. "You know of this beast, father?"

"You know him, too, Valeriy. Everyone does," was the knight's answer, "it's the son of perdition."

"_Who opposes and exalts himself above all that is called God or that is worshiped? _2 Thessalonians 2:3,4..." The commander gawked and his grasp around his cup grew numb. "Is it really... _him?_ The Evil One? _The Prince of Darkness?_"

"The Antichrist, yes." Volpe pursed his lips. "His return has been prophesied, but… only in a decade's time from now. We've kept it a secret to avoid spreading panic."

A fear-ridden breath hitched in the knight-commander's gullet.

"Please, Valeriy," the arch-priest nearly begged, "don't breathe a word of this. Our warriors' moral has been low ever since the attack and this knowledge could shatter their willpower." He let out a troubled sigh. "Regardless, this matter cannot be left unaddressed. We must extricate the young Trevor from the devil's clutches."

"Trevor? The lad I am training to use the combat cross? Why him? He's but a child!"

"He's the only one capable of eradicating the darkness because of his blood tie with Gabriel. Without him, our fate is predestined," Volpe murmured, expression resolute. "Commander Alajos, we must marshal an extraction party with all possible expedition."

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 16__th__ of June 1058. Bernhard's Castle._

_She was beautiful. Oh so-_

_In spite of her worn, ragged garb and tousled hair. In spite of the bruises and cuts that blemished her joints. In spite of the dark, sunken circles framing her eyes, she was beautiful. Elegant, refined, she spun across gaps and chasms, hopped from stone to stone, ran and hid akin to a child playing hide-and-seek with their parents. Her giggles, so bright, so _foreign_ in this place of corruption and decay, echoed in his ears, awakening him, nudging him ever forward-_

_-_who was she?_ An idle thought wormed in his brain. A young adult, that he could tell, with innocence that of a youngster. He tried to place her face, her frame, her stature, but his mind responded only with a biting ache-_

_-_follow me_, she laughed, poking her disheveled head through the decrepit archway, blue eyes crinkled in amusement, _something wishes to reveal itself to you_-_

_**-**_**do not believe her,**_ a bodiless voice rustled._

**-a hapless saboteur, a repugnant wretch-**

_-_hold on!_ He cried out, springing to his feet. _Who are you?

Follow, and you shall see! _She beckoned, a roguish smirk twitching her lips. _Aid is being offered.

**-she is undeserving of your attention-**

_Could she be just a mirage, a phantasm? Or was she an interloper, meandering through the abode for personal profit? He could not bring himself to care. He had whiled away eons in isolation with only the specter of a false-boy as company, and this buoyant creature... Help him? A figment of imagination or not, perhaps she could clue him in-_

-about what? _The true identity of the phantom child haunting his waking nightmares? About herself? Or the ever-shifting sands of time distorting the world outside-_

**-of pious curs and flawed constructs-**

**-it is in its nature to unmake itself-**

**-it has abandoned you to wither away-**

_Shuddering in revulsion, he promptly blocked the voices off. After a thousand times of repeating the notion over and over, it has become... a habit. The structure around him hissed and grumbled in annoyance and he could feel a faint smile coaxing its way onto his lips. Smug, he tottered after the unnamed girl._

_Patient and steadfast, she was waiting for him on the top of a great terrace overlooking the domains beyond. The brilliant radiance of the waxing moon only added to her beauty, and a for a moment he could have sworn his petrified heart skipped a beat-_

_She boldly matched his stare, brow arched._

_-_can you tell me now who you are?_ He tried once more. _Why are you helping me? Are you... f-from the village?

_-a settlement of husbandmen and farmers, set on cultivating the land and tending to their kine now that the continuous snowstorm has ended-_

_The woman favored him with a quirky glance. _The village? No, we share nothing in common with that... paltry, unwashed gathering. Aid is provided to those who deserve it most. Gabriel, you are here to be set on a proper path.

-I am dishonored, disgraced and trampled,_ he replied scornfully, _I do not need your sympathy or your charity._ He motioned, pulling his features into a wry grimace. _Leave, leave me to suffer in solitude, herald-

_-who else could it be than a representative of His crooked Lordship? Sent to rag, bedevil, and torture him with scourges and flames-_

-is it because you consider yourself to be worthless?_ The woman's eyes twinkled._

_He slumped against a lichen-draped wall._ I have nothing. I am nothing. Your unjust God had ensured of that-

-that is not true and you know it. These complications and misfortunes... they are you. You hide beneath this... this shell of meaningless regret! Wallow in grief and self-pity out of fear!_ She gave a sniff of disapproval. _For how long will this live on? This isn't going to end until you admit-

-what I am?! _He abruptly cut her off. _I know what I am, and I have long accepted it! But that doesn't change anything. Still I am condemned, maledicted by the same blessed light that gleams above all others! _He heaved a grave sigh. _I am... not welcome under its glow.

_The girl's gaze softened as she sat herself beside him._ Yes, but what is stopping you from sculpturing this realm anew, one where all of your sins are forgiven? Where heartbreak is non-existent? Where you can bask in the sunshine once more without strings attached?

_He gazed at her with no small degree of disbelief. _What you say is not doable, herald.

Yet, you are intrigued._ A leering furrow traced the corners of her eyes. _What lurks within your heart, I wonder. Despair? Anguish? Or is there something irrelevant to your sorrows?

_His mouth tightened into a narrow line, and he hurriedly jerked his head to the side._

There is._ He could feel the interloper's self-complacency. _Festering rage, fury at the injustices brought down upon you. You wish to tear those responsible asunder, gut them like pigs they are and mount their rotting cadavers onto pikes. Savor their dying screams and watch as blood drenches the once-ploughed fields. If this is what you feel, what is forcing you to hold back? Why are reining your ire in-

-because I know that no matter what I do it would be in vain! _He all but but shrieked, hands curling into fists. _Entire civilizations crumble to dust, eras come to a sudden end. I know who is responsible for my torment, but I **cannot** prevail against the Puppet-King that governs over Eden! _Teeth bared in a snarl, he turned away and huddled up against the cold stone. _Resistance leads only to ruin.

No, you cannot. No one can lay a finger of the Being that created us all, not even His chosen favorites._ The girl's tinkly voice drawled out. _But there is an... alternative.

_He scoffed. _And what would that be-

_-_-the marionette master may be out of your reach, yet his... creations, these frail puppets, remain. His Children. Shaped out of rib and clay. Wan and fallible, their only function in this life is to pass away. Humanity is His nursling. The offspring must suffer for the sins of their Father-

_-a warm hand crawled up his shoulder, making him startle. The weightlessness of her touches scorched into his flesh and he breathed in sharply-_

-do you not bear malice towards the ones who had stolen everything you once held dear? Do you not wish to take vengeance for all of their misconducts and falsehoods?_ Strong fingers kneaded his taut, sore muscles._ Conviction, opportunity, power. You lack nothing. Your wrath is justified. Anything you want you can make it yours. You need only a little nudge-

_-all of a sudden, the hand seized him by the chin and wrung his head to the side. Blue eyes, sunken and hollow, stared back at him, burrowing into his own, upsetting the emotion caged inside-_

_-and it was then that he recognized them, the hue that tortured him so-_

_-'twas the gaze of his angel, his sweetheart who had preferred Eden over Earth-_

**-the one who loves must share the fate of the one she loves,**_an untroubled whisper sighed into his ear-_

-and I am aware of my fault,_ Marie said, crystalline tears welling up in her eyes, _and I wish to set things right. I shall not abandon you, not again-

**-another, alert, but confined-**

-they had demanded I abide by their request; they gave me no choice! No time to talk over their order. _The girl wept and tucked her face into the nook of his neck, _they took him away-

**-the scion, a boy, in the clutches of those deceitful and cowardly cretins-**

-to bring him up, supply him with weapons and knowledge-

**-to have a lineage destroy itself from within-**

-the elders had manipulated us! They had snatched our son from his cradle!_ The woman wailed, eyes bloodshot from the tears. _They had cursed him to the life of an orphan!

_-and it was then that something clicked in his mind. A living, breathing boy, his kindred, his __**child...**__ the corporeal extension of the phantom that occupied his hallucinations. The waking reverie. The only being bold enough to approach him. That, and the-_

_-he twisted... only to find coils of smoke whirling in the place of his beloved. She had vanished, wrested from him just as he scarcely thought she was there to heal his pain-_

-a mirage, an illusion-

-they are not real-

_-a heat rose in his chest, climbing up his throat akin to a parasite, and he clutched at his head. The sudden sting of claws piercing his skin sobered him up, yet it could not subdue the flames biting at his gullet. Fury. Frenzy at the loss, betrayals, falsehoods. Crushed and fragmented by the years of impassivity, it was now pieced together-_

_-with a deafening roar escaping his lips, he sank his fist into the panel beside him. Features locked in a snarl, he wormed his hand free, stopping only to flash a glance at bloodied knuckles and torn skin. It mattered not. Pain was relative. It could be tolerated and... it could be inflicted. Their mangled bodies would litter the streets, weeds would burgeon from their fleshless carcases... they, their-_

-who are "they"-

**-the Brotherhood,**_ a soft rustle promptly offered-_

_-the word alone drew out a growl. The ones under the guise of reverent saviors, of blessed deliverers. The root of his misfortunes. They had ruined him, left him to rot away... all in the name of their freewheeling and preposterous God-_

-why have you abandoned me-

_-broad cracks bled down the wall as he jabbed at it again and again, boulders breaking under the force of his hits. If needed he would bring this entire site to its groundwork, yet he recognized that even this would not abate his anger-_

-I have nothing left-

-they must die-

_-he found himself scratching and snarling at the bulwark, all the same-_

-I will kill all of them-

_-his hands had began to bleed almost immediately, fingertips carved open into a red pulp from the knifelike edges of the rock. Unconsciously, he raked them across the surface, marveling at the jagged scarlet lines... He gnashed his teeth and carried on-_

_-soon, the childlike scrawling was transformed into words. As he jotted down the last letter, his grimace stretched out into a savage grin. It is time to sever the ties once and for all. He shambled back to admire his work-_

Gabriel Belmont iam non est.

* * *

The vampire startled, taken aback by the sharp onrush of memories. Murmuring curses under his breath, Dracul rose to his feet and gave his eyes a quick rub. He had drifted off in a half-ruined, lined with flea-bitten tables alcove. The dining hall, he sleepily recalled, where Carmilla's monstrous butcher had once been preparing feasts for the castle ghouls. Now, only bleached bones and darkened suits of armor littered the floor – a reminder of battles past.

A high-pitched squeal rang of off the anteroom walls and a small, winged shape flopped down in front him. Delilah floundered about, panic-stricken squeaks leaving her frail form. The vampire knelt and scooped the unlucky bat up, at the same time checking her for any injuries. Fortunately, she appeared to be in one piece if a bit disjointed from the rocky landing.

"Delilah, what's wrong?" The elder asked the petite bat as he allowed her atop his shoulder. The familiar gave a weak, yet appreciative twitter and one of her roundish ears twitched to the east.

"East?" Dracul frowned, nonplussed. "Was there a breach? I would have hea-"

The bat chirped in negation and swooped down and onto one of the tarnished cuirasses. She rattled her tiny claws across the rusty metal and stared at her master. The former knight gazed back.

"Armor? Oh, you mean an armor-clad soldier!" he said and the familiar nodded in agreement. "August! Did something happen to him?"

Delilah made some hacking and retching noises.

"He's been vomiting?" The bat motioned at him with her webbed fingers. "Vomiting blood? Why would he- No matter. I shall go have a look at him. Thank you for warning me."

* * *

Augustus heaved a wailful sigh and ran his fingers across his shaven head. His hands twitched as they grazed all the ridges and disfigurements which presently crowned his skull. A half-hysterical laughter seething deep within his gullet, the former knight picked up a gilded chalice off the table nearby and stared into its reflective depths. The cup remained as immaculate as ever... ah, only the light of a candle near him danced across its bulbous features. Apart from that... nothing.

"Damn you!" Tears welling up in his eyes, the soldier hurled the blasted goblet into the opposite wall and huddled up in a shaky ball, sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing. Lost, forsaken. Yanked away from a prosperous life and forced into servitude stuffed with pain, heartbreak, and unyielding thirst for the lifeblood of others.

The warrior tucked his malformed face into his hands and wept, oblivious to his surroundings. He had chosen this broken-down library as his warren; none of the castle dwellers had any business around these parts-

"August?" A long-familiar voice intoned, and the soldier's head jerked upward.

Dracul stood before him, shoulders hunched and a troubled expression apparent on his features. The soldier sniveled, moist lines trailing down his cheeks, and returned to his initial position. The rustle of leather against stone reached out for his ears, and August felt as a weight plumped down beside him.

"H-how did you handle th-this?" Augustus hiccuped a question, face buried.

An instant of silence followed. "Far from ideally," his friend responded with scathing bitterness tinging his tone. "To not be... aware of the passage of time is maddening, to tell you the truth. You roam about, adrift like a leaf, and you cannot distinguish daylight from nighttime. According to hearsay, I recovered from my meanderings no more than two years ago."

August tilted his head to the side, quizzical. "Wait, a-are you saying that... that you were-?"

"An unenthusiastic subject?" Dracul finished, snorting softly. "To an extent. _This-_" he gestured to himself, "happened well after the Queen's downfall."

The warrior's upturned, bat-like nose grooved. "This is... not the work of the dark witch?"

"No. Her daughter's."

"Her... daughter's?" the soldier echoed, mouth puckering into a thin line. "Ah, yes, I recall the Grandmaster counseling us to take notice of her." His brow darkened. "So! That thing's the one responsible for all of this filth?"

A faint sneer pulled the corners of the elder's mouth sideways. "I wouldn't badmouth her memory, August." An unsubtle hiss tinctured his voice. "She was a lost soul, and I set her free."

"Ah- A-alright." The sharp points of August's eyeteeth dug into his lower lip. "I didn't... didn't know. I apologize."

" 'Tis nothing." An unworried smile flashed across Dracul's lips. "I never could truly bear a grudge against you, August. In spite of all your daredevil quirkiness."

"Ah, yes." The soldier puffed. "And, I imagine, knowing the existing state of affairs this is _quite_ a perk. But, still..." His hand moved to scratch the nape of his neck. "Why'd you do it? You've served the cross for as long as I can remember, and that _is_ quite a lot. Law-abiding, devout, and humble, a perfect role-model for the kids. And now... you've declared a war against the Brotherhood, the Order we've both swore fealty to. We took our oaths on the same day, remember?"

A self-assured grin quirked the elder vampire's lips, and August felt an odd chill dribbling down his spine. "That we did," his friend admitted, eyebrows arched. "Though, I feel unclean for pledging allegiance to a mass of self-righteous zealots."

"Aye, but- didn't you mention the Necromancer and the Tempter himself being the architects of all your suffering? How does the Brotherhood come into play in all of this?"

Dracul gazed at him, expression petrified. "How does the-" he began incredulously, but then broke off. "_August!_ The elders have hidden the existence of my firstborn from me!"

The soldier juddered his misshapen head. "Okay, but what could you have done if they _had_ told you?"

Gabriel's stare bored into his skull.

"Hell, we all thought the world was ending!" Augustus continued. "That stark raving mad geezer back at the Order had kept blathering about how the Creator had abandoned us, how the 'true sovereign beings would return from their torpor'-" The fledgling stumbled, flashing a quick glance at his sire.

"The point is, mankind had lost hope, and if Lucifer _himself_ had decided stop by... God knows what could have happened to us. And you know it better than anyone – you would not have achieved your goal if you were told that you had an infant boy dozing off in the stronghold's nursery. And... and Marie..." the soldier fell silent, reaching out to rub his clawed hand across his jawline. "Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"You truly believe so?" Dracul interjected, lips pressed into a thin line.

August looked away, unsure, but then nodded. "Sorry, you had to carry this burden alone."

"Spare me your pity, August." Was the abrupt response as the vampire lord climbed to his feet. "Do not presume you know me, or what I had been forced to endure." He strode to the other side of the alcove and picked up the cup the soldier had discarded not so long ago. Without a pause, he tore into his own wrist and let the oily, scarlet liquid fill the goblet to the brim.

The warrior unconsciously shrunk away at the sight, a wordless whimper escaping his lips. Springing like some panic-struck feline, August attempted to scramble up the empty bookcase to his left side, talons digging into the porous surface of the wood, away, _away,_ from his false friend, the corrupt substance, and... and the pain, oh, Christ, the _pain!_

_Craaaack!_ The rickety shelf under his foot gave way, and the former soldier let out a shrill yelp of surprise. Out of sheer instinct, he clung for his dear life as the fixings, nailing the furniture down to the floor, creaked and bent. The enormous bookcase careened, sending the unprepared warrior plummeting. A second, and it came crashing down upon him. Augustus yowled, huddling up in a pitiful attempt to alleviate the pain that was about to follow.

But it never made it.

Hollow pants leaving his lungs, the warrior peered only to catch sight of a shoulder joint holding the falling piece of furniture up. "You were led astray, my friend," Dracul cast the ten-foot bookcase aside with no visible effort and seated himself next to the curled up soldier. "But it doesn't mean we cannot turn over a new leaf."

August blinked, snivels echoing inside his chest. "But what about others?" he eventually managed. "What about the youngsters' parents? What about my _spouse?_ Jossie's-"

"A body mangled beyond recognition has been presented before Josephine this very morning," the elder replied impassively. "She believes you have perished during the foray; brave, noble, you selflessly tried to aid your brothers-in-arms." He paused. "As for the parents... My gain is their loss. It is something they'll have to grow used to."

The glare of his crimson eyes grew more vibrant. "August, I have granted you the opportunity for you to seize. But in order for you to reap all the benefits, you must allow it to take hold of you." His mouth twitched into a cordial smile as the soldier shifted himself upright. "You've done me a great favor, my friend. It is only natural that I return my debt."

"Wai- what favor?" the man repeated, perplexed.

"You have shown thought for Trevor when I couldn't. You were a true father figure to him. A father... he never knew." Gabriel sighed, fidgeting. "I admit, I am somewhat envious of your kinship with the boy."

August mellowed, smirking just a little. "It was... it was the right thing to do. It was a sense of responsibility even I couldn't ignore. And Jossie didn't oppose-" He trailed off. "Will I be able to see her again?"

"You will," was the firm reply. "But first you must drink this."

The soldier's muscles tautened as he caught sight of the blood-filled goblet being offered. How the Hell did the vampire hang onto that in spite of the- "How..." He felt short of breath. "How is that going to help. I- I vomit up everything else. Ju-just... No."

"August, it's all right." Dracul set his hand on the warrior's trembling shoulder. "It's all right." The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. "You look damn hideous, though."

"Don't I?" Augustus perked up. "Bring outs the contrast between us then."

"Well, if you don't want to bear a resemblance to a bipedal bat-" The elder held the cup out. "And if you wish to tell Josephine that the reports of your demise were false-"

August let out a feeble snigger as he accepted the goblet. "I suppose. Can't say I'm overly fond of these." He gestured to his wings.

"Humanity has always craved to soar alongside birds, but give them wings and they begin to complain." Dracul denoted blithely.

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, __22nd of June, 1058. Bernhard's Castle, Guest House._

Once he was assured that the rest of his friends were asleep, Adrian rose, sighing lightly. Julia had taken ill-something kept upsetting her stomach, and Rosaly could do little to sooth the lass's discomfort without supplies, but neither of the girls-or any of the others, really-were willing to deal with the vampire to see about solving the problem. The squire could understand their reasoning-and the fear that lay beneath it all-but he could not sit idly by while one of the little ones was ill.

So he stood, shrugging on a coat, and made for the exit-there was no need to disturb the others while they slept, now when sleep was such a precious commodity here. He had suggested a watch, like a group of knights would have kept in the wild, when they had first come here, and now it was his turn...but here he was, abandoning his post. He told himself he would not be long-at least, Adrian hoped he would not be long-and that it was for their best interests, anyways.

With a sigh, the young man reached for the door handle, careful not to make any noise as he nudged it open, and began to step out-

"Where are you going?"

-and he froze, turning back to stare at the speaker. Sypha sat quietly in her bed, green eyes guarded as they watched Adrian carefully. Of course it would be her-she always seemed to be aware of what was going on, for all she kept to herself. What did she make of all of this, Adrian wondered? Sypha had not known any of them, save Trevor, back in the fortress. Oh, she had seen all of them in passing, but had never really spoken to any of them. Now she was trapped with strangers by a monster who claimed kinship with the only friend she had here.

He could not fathom her thoughts, however, for Sypha seemed to be particularly good at guarding them. And so he decided that a lie was not an option, not here, especially not when they needed to rely upon one another to survive.

"Julia is ill, and we've nothing to treat it. I'm going to see if I can change that."

"You mean to speak with him?"

The blond nodded slowly, silently, and gold eyes watched Sypha's reaction carefully.

The redhead sighed. "The others won't like it."

"The others don't need to know just yet."

"They will if he does something about your request."

"Then I'll deal with that when it happens. Right now, however, I'd rather they sleep."

The lass turned to stare out at the others, still sleeping peacefully-Hector and Rosaly, side by side, Julia curled into Isaac's protective embrace, Grant clinging to Trevor like his life depended on it. Sighing, she turned back to Adrian, murmuring, "I won't mention this. ...And I will take your watch, while you're gone."

The blond's eyebrows rose, surprise clear on his face, and he couldn't help but press. "You mean this? Despite the possible result?"

"I don't like seeing them suffer any more than you do," Sypha replied, an odd note of emotion in her voice-one that Adrian could not place. One glance into her green eyes, however, told him that it would be kinder not to ask, and so he simply nodded and cracked the door open just enough to slip out.

"With any luck, I'll return shortly." Pausing only long enough to see Sypha nod, he turned to leave.

As he shut the door behind him, he could have sworn he heard her mutter something akin to a "happy birthday to me…"

For all it was summer, the wind and the height of the towers made the night chillier than he had expected, and Adrian drew his coat around him with a grimace. The stone made his footfalls sound dull and heavy-or was his stride really that different than how it had once been?-as he made his way out of the tower that they were housed in.

Thinking to call out, to expedite the process, Adrain tried to think of something to say-only to realize the only name they had been given for their captor was one he himself had tossed aside. Wonderful. "Call on him if we require his aid, he says, and then doesn't give us a _name_ to call him by…"

Turning to look about him, he wondered what sort of place this really was-and then he spied a strange form darting across the night sky. Was that a woman? With wings? _What in God's name…?_ Shaking his head with a growl, he pressed onwards, wishing he had his sword at his side. As long as that thing stayed way, way over there, he should be alright, but he still hated having to wander these halls unarmed.

Once he had reached a fair distance away from their sleeping quarters, he dared to raise his voice. "I know you're listening, somehow. I need to speak with you, vampire."

No response. Huffing in annoyance, Adrian continued to walk, steps aimless. It didn't matter where he ended up, really-if he went far enough, eventually the dragon would notice, and would come calling. He only had to wait.

Though he had expected to be snuck up on, that didn't make his surprise any less when a voice echoed from behind him.

"I'm listening, Adrian. What ails you?"

Spinning on his heels, the blond found the dragon stepping out of the shadows behind him, expression guarded and calm. Grimacing against the oath he wanted to bark out, the squire forced himself to relax for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking.

"I don't know how much you watch us, but Julia's taken ill. Rosaly cannot mix a remedy without the supplies, and I would rather something be done. Can you not arrange something be brought to ease the lass's discomfort?"

"Yes, I am aware of her condition," the vampire replied cooly, quirking an eyebrow, "and I am trying my best to help her with her affliction." Dracul crossed his arms across his chest, seemingly adamant.

There was the slightest bit of a scoff from the blond, though it was clear he was attempting to reign his distaste in. No use provoking a dragon, after all. "Can you not simply allow Rosaly the means to do what she has been trained to do?"

"I am afraid it is not that simple, young squire," the vampire snorted contemptuously. "No road connects this curst abode with a site or a city. Getting the required herbs can prove arduous and perilous. But I shall remedy that… when the time comes."

Gold eyes narrowed, scowl more apparent. So the vampire could bring forth meals that only royalty would dine upon, but not the most basic of medicine? While Adrian knew he was ignorant of how trade worked, he knew enough to be able to find that claim doubtful, at best. Yet, what could he say to refute it?

"...So you will provide them when you have the chance?"

A brief pause. "Of course, Adrian, but it will take some time. I'll send a vanguard party. Yet, until then- we're on our own. However, if Julia's health continues to dwindle, make sure to notify me. I _shall_ come up with something."

"Certainly," Adrian replied, biting his tongue against any of the more biting remarks he might have desired to make-he had come to seek aid, not to pick a fight. He could not afford to pick a fight. Turning with a nod of his head, he made to retreat back the way he had come...only to pause after taking a few steps, glancing back over his shoulder. He might not get another chance to speak with the dragon without others listening for some time. If he was going to ask, now would be the opportune moment.

Quietly he spoke once more. "Trevor says you've told us the truth...that you were the one who broke that horrid spell a decade ago." Turning to face the vampire properly, he continued, "It was late autumn, yes? Or have I misremembered?"

A trick question. Adrian would not forget that day for as long as he lived.

The vampire stiffened, mouth pinching in a frown. Crimson eyes bored into gold, and slowly Dracul replied. "Autumn, yes. It was when the trees were already dipped in gold, cinnabar, and the skies were painted gray." A pause, long and oppressive, and then, "Why do you inquire about such a thing?"

Letting loose a soft sigh, the squire turned away, staring up at the stars, expression unreadable. "My mother died when I was small. She...was trapped by that spell, like many others. If you truly are the one that broke that curse, then…"

He trailed off, losing himself in his memories. Orbs of light trailing across the sky like lanterns, vaguely human figures soaring into the heavens, his father's cry of anguish-

_-"No, do not leave me, do not leave Adrian, we cannot continue on without you-"_

_-"Never forget that I love you-"_

_-"I won't forget, Mother, I swear it…!"-_

"Then?"

Jolting from his recollections, Adrian sighed again. Though he was clearly reluctant to continue, he forced himself to finish the statement regardless. "...Then it seems that I owe you a debt."

The vampire flinched, much to the squire's surprise. He had thought the dragon would be glad to know he held such power over one of the children, especially the eldest, the one all the others looked towards for guidance-

"Your debt," the vampire began after a moment of thought, tone careful and gaze guarded, "or what you thought to be a debt, has been annulled."

Gold eyes widened for a moment, and Adrian stared at the vampire, incredulous. He was cancelling the debt, just like that? Not using it to gain leverage, to manipulate, to force him into complacency? Surely he wouldn't give up such an advantage. What was his ploy? ...Was there a ploy at all?

"I acknowledge your words," the dragon continued, heedless of the confusion clear on Adrian's expression, "as well as your tale, but I take no pleasure in collecting something off of a child, no matter their obligation."

A child…? He had not been called that for some time. Most considered him an adult in his own right-him, Hector, Rosaly, and even Isaac-asking when he was to be wed, when he would start a family. Was it because he was still a squire that the dragon saw him as being a child still? Or was there some other reason? There was so much he did not understand, all being laid out before him-no wonder Trevor had not seemed to know what to make of this creature who claimed him as kin. He was infuriatingly contradictory…

Or was it simply that Adrian had nothing to offer in payment? That was true enough-all he had had was now stripped from him, left behind with the fortress that was his home-and even then, would there really have been anything the vampire would have wanted? Money, power, these things were meaningless here. All Adrian had to offer was his life.

It almost seemed fitting-one eternity for another. The realization left a sour taste in his mouth.

The dragon gestured back towards the tower where the rest of the children lay sleeping, his voice softening just a fraction. "Go, and don't concern yourself with this any longer."

Don't concern yourself, he said. Unfortunately, it was in Adrian's nature to concern himself with such things. His mother would be suffering even now were it not for this creature. She had been given paradise-and her savior, damnation. The sour taste in his mouth grew stronger.

But he was not ready to offer his life so readily. No, he would watch and he would wait, and perhaps he would figure out what should be done. He had time, as much as he wished he and the others could be freed from this place as soon as possible.

Perhaps the dragon was right, and he was still a child. Such heavy decisions were beyond children, were the not? So he would bide his time.

"...I will not be a child forever, vampire," Adrian noted softly, "and just because the world is satisfied with forgetting what it owes you does not mean that_ I_ am."

Bah. He'd had enough to think about for the night and then some. At least he had gotten what he had come for-the dragon's word that something be done for poor Julia. That was enough, for now. He needed to get back, lest one of the others wake to find him gone and begin to panic. Sypha needed her rest, anyhow.

Turning away, he paused one last time, calling over his shoulder. "You really should give us a name to call you by. It would make trying to get your attention much easier."

And with that, he was gone, disappearing back into the tower and retreating to his companions.


	6. Chapter 4: Discoveries

_Ahahaha...been a while, hasn't it? Apologies for taking so long-things offline happened to both of us, and then this chapter needed a looooot of editing. But thanks for being patient! Hopefully this is worth the wait. Oh, and uh, sidenote-if any of you have been paying attention to the dates we've been giving, you might have noticed there's been a slight change. We did the math a bit wrong the first time, but it's fixed now. ...This is why neither of us are mathematicians._

-|{D}|-

_Year of Our Lord, 20__th__ of August 1058. Bernhard's Castle, "Crow's Nest" aerie_

A rainy August had quenched all warmth this summer had offered in matter of days. Heavy droplets kept falling from the silver-embroidered skies, briefly stopping every once in awhile to have sunshine grace the land with its presence. The treetops were already adorned in gold and the shrill cries of the birds of passage could not be silenced even for a moment.

Standing atop of the balcony, hands folded on the railing, Dracul stared after a flock of rooks skimmed by, clearly heading south, away from the approaching winter's breath. For some reason, crows, and rooks in particular, had taken a liking to stopping by on the spires of his castle before returning to their arduous journey. The vampire did not object. In fact, he enjoyed scrutinizing these gregarious birds in their habitat and, sometimes, even offered them food. The cautious crows avoided him at first, but quickly grew fond of him and his treats. Some of them, apparently, decided to nest in the nooks and crannies of the spiraling towers. This, of course, upset a colony of bats with the same thought in mind, but luckily, the conflict had been settled quickly and without violence.

A husky grunt from beside him diverted the vampire's attention from the frolicking wildlife. Blackblood, a grizzly yet lithe greater lycanthrope under his control, furrowed his nose and heaved another disgruntled snort.

"Bloody poultry," the werewolf grumbled under his breath, glaring daggers at the waltzing birds. "Headless and temperamental. And you can't even effectively hound these, too! But, I wager, if you catch one, they'd taste delicious." Blackblood's pinkish tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Minus all the plumes... and _beaks_."

"Are you famished? Already?" Dracul arched a skeptical eyebrow. "I believe you had a fair share of ground beef half-an-hour ago."

"Minced treats digest so quickly, though, my Liege," the werewolf parried, mouth puckered in a knavish smirk. "Plus, beef is not as... nutritious as, say, a couple dozen of these nettlesome fowls."

"Didn't know you had such a sweet tooth, beast. Very well, I'll tell our kitchen... eh, _staff _to provide you with a pheasant, granted you do not frighten the children off." The elder went up to a pedestal beechwood table where eight goblets, a glass cup, and a pitcher awaited him. "Alright, Blackblood, focus. We mustn't mishandle this."

"Wha- Oh, right." The lycan lieutenant climbed to his hind legs. Even when not hunched up, the beast could not brag of the same hulking stature as his deceased brethren, yet Dracul paid scarce attention to it. If Blackblood was one of Cornell's consultants – and he most certainly was; he wouldn't be standing here if it weren't so! – then he most certainly valued brains over brawn. The decision to seek refuge from the Brotherhood footmen in the bowels of the Bernhard's abode had certainly proven to be a prudent one.

Humming gently to himself, Dracul lifted up the pitcher and poured the sweet-scented burgundy liquid into the chalices. Blackblood's scarred nose furrowed. "What is this?"

"Cranberries, sugar, and water. It's soft, so I don't have to worry about intoxication. Here, have some." The elder offered the werewolf a cupful. "Check for sweetness."

"You're not fooling me, my Lord," the beast noted in a self-satisfied voice. "Vampires can still _taste_ mortal food; your ilk just can't swallow. Sample your brew yourself."

"Astute little lycan, aren't you?"

Blackblood bristled. "I beg your pardon? _Little?!_ But at least I'm alive! The same can't be said for those thickheaded, bloody-minded so-"

Dracul all but shoved the cup into the lycan's hirsute chest. "Yes, yes, yes! Just try it already!"

Eyeballing his overlord all the while, the lycan grabbed the glass from the elder's hand and emptied its contents in one swig. Right away, the werewolf's muzzle contorted in a white-lipped grimace, and he sputtered.

"More sugar then," the vampire concluded in a businesslike tone. "Cranberries are sour – _too_ sour – this summer. But this is good; the tartness will mask the aftertaste." His hand flew up to his mouth, and he bit down the flesh near his forefinger. Beads of blood oozed down his palm, and he hurriedly dotted each goblet with a crimson droplet. A quick stir, and the blood dissolved in the brownish-red depths.

"Ah, how insidious!" Approval echoed in Blackblood's voice. "Using blood to create an addiction. Yes, I know some of the effects of Strigoi - vampire - blood. Still, this is not as impressive as gnawing a juicy, bloody chunk out of one's body and then watching them sprout fangs and fur. All in matter of minutes, as we-"

Dracul gazed at him dourly.

"-well; those were good days." The werewolf bared his yellowing teeth in a grin. "But don't misunderstand, my Prince. I was merely reminiscing; your wards needn't fear this battered lupine."

Heaving a sigh, Dracul shifted his shoulders – yes, he could already hear the shuffle of many feet ascending the staircase behind them. Offering the beast one last admonitory glance, the elder swung about to greet the arrivals.

-|{T}|-

Being trapped in a place like this was enough to wear on anyone's psyche. For the children, it was only worse. Separated from familiarity-from home, from family, from _safety_-it was safe to assume that they did not handle their confinement. Perhaps it was better for them, to be locked away in a tower-but in truth, they took no delight in the fact that the monsters could not reach them. The greatest of the monsters already had them in its clutches-what good did it do them, hiding away from the rest?

Moral plummeted, despite their best efforts to keep up even the smallest scrap of hope. No plan of escape was viable-there was too much between them and the outside, too many risks-and the odds of rescue seemed slim indeed.

Once vibrant children grew quiet, lifeless. Nothing seemed to catch their interest-not even food, in some cases. What was the point of living when one was no better than a caged animal? These eight were used to lives of relative freedom-at the very least, the freedom to wander about a set space, to have some sort of adventure. To a child, that was enough. Here, they had nowhere to go, nothing to do-and were surrounded by nightmares. It was enough to break any person.

Abruptly the silence and solitude was broken-by a vaguely familiar figure. It took them a moment to identify him, but eventually they managed to recall that this particular vampire was the one that had been lurking behind the Dragon throughout their tête-à-tête conversation. There came a sense of familiarity, vague as it was, but most of them chalked it up to having dealt with the creature during that fateful night, in a very distant way. Even if the creature, instead of attacking them, had simply been cut down by some unknown force like an ear of wheat.

Silence-they waited without comment to see what the vampire wanted. "Young master," he said after a drawn-out pause, "you are expected in the aerie. Please, do not dawdle – your father's already waiting for you."

An invitation? — and yet all of them knew that refusal was not an option. They drew comfort from the fact that it would get them out of the guest house they had been locked in, for many of them missed the fresh mountain air of the fortress and the lands around. They collected themselves, gathering their faltering courage to prepare themselves for whatever it was they were being called for.

Trevor paused, frowning, staring at the vampire that lurked in the darkness, even now. He _knew_ that voice-but that couldn't be right. Creeping forwards, he leaned down, trying to see under the hooded cloak the vampire was wearing. The man turned away at every attempt, but the way he _moved_...it was far, far too familiar for Trevor's liking. A sinking suspicion settled in the pit of his stomach. A few more moments of staring, and he couldn't help but give voice to his suspicions.

His voice was steadily coming back-but it only came out quiet and raspy, and it might have been lost in the noise of the rest of the room, had the person he was speaking to not been a vampire.

"...Augustus…?"

The creature flinched, clearly caught flat-footed, and shook his head before turning on his heels and attempting to leave the dormitory.

"Ah-wait!" Without thinking, the boy darted forwards, hands reaching out to grab at the vampire's own. He had to know-he'd thought his godfather _dead_, slaughtered like the rest of the soldiers in the fortress, had mourned him silently over these long months. To find him here, among the damned...Trevor wasn't sure how he felt about all of this, but he knew that he didn't want to just let his godfather _leave._ Augustus was the closest thing Trevor had ever had to a father-he was loath to lose that.

Assuming, of course, he hadn't already. He just needed a good look at the vampire's face to know for sure...

But the fledgling yanked his hand out of the boy's grasp and grumbled through gnashed teeth, "Stop it, Trevor! You're just going to make it worse." He turned away, sniffling in indignation.

The voice, and the way it reprimanded him-it was all so terribly, heartbreakingly familiar, and the boy flinched as if struck by a physical blow. His ability to speak was lost, for a moment or three, as he withdrew his hand and held it to his chest as if it had just been stung. "I...I'm sorry…" He swallowed roughly, trying to make his voice work. "I...H-how are you here?"

Augustus' frame stiffened. "I- don't trouble yourself, lad. There… there's nothing you could do." That blazing red gaze grew glassy. "Fate can be such a callous bitch sometimes, and… Everyone must be cautious when choosing their friends and foes."

The boy's expression twisted, becoming something between anguish and anger, teeth clenching as the words washed over him. He _hated_ the concept of fate, that someone was damned to suffer. He hated the feeling of being powerless to fight it even more so-how he wished there was something he could do! But there was no cure for vampirism, no way to change events that had already happened. All he could do was tend to his wounded heart, betrayed as he felt on his godfather's behalf. What sort of man damned his own best friend? Trevor didn't understand it.

The others murmured in the background-the boys, at least, knew of Augustus, either as Trevor's guardian or as a high-ranking member of the Brotherhood. For him to be here, cursed as he was...well. It wasn't exactly a pleasant notion.

"Now, all of you, let's go." Was that... poorly-hidden _resentment _in the former soldier's voice? "I don't want to keep _him_ waiting."

It was a moment before any of them moved-but soon enough the older ones began to usher the rest of them forwards, murmuring about how it was best to get this over with quickly. Gradually they began to trail behind Augustus, though they kept their distance, posture and gait wary.

Except for Trevor. Wounded by the tone his godfather took, the boy stood still, staring at his boots with an air of melancholy around him. It wasn't until a hand reached to take the one Augustus had rejected that he snapped out of his stupor-and looked up to find Sypha there, offering him a small, shaky smile. He couldn't bring himself to return it, but he allowed her to pull him along. The others, too, offered what little support they could-a hand on the shoulder, a clap on the back-but they knew that this was a wound that would not heal so readily, if it ever healed at all.

Slowly they ascended the steps to where they were expected, spying the longcoat of their host in the distance. Beside him was a hulking figure-not as tall, but much bulkier. Closer inspection revealed wolven features on what appeared to be a man's stature, covered in graying, wiry fur. The creature-only the elder two boys recognized it for the lycan it was-seemed to be paying more attention to the birds than their arrival, a fact they all found themselves grateful for.

They eldest three were the first, as they usually were—Rosaly lead the way, solemn and silent. Adrian was not far behind, dark circles under his eyes—he had lost sleep over something. Hector paused long enough to turn back and usher the younger ones forwards, the exchange silent.

Isaac and Julia trailed after, the young girl pointing out the crows with a sound of awe—and, perhaps, a faint note of glee. She had always loved birds, and to see them here after being trapped inside for so long lifted her spirits, however slightly. Isaac could not help the fond smile that quirked his own lips at the sight of his sister's enthusiasm.

Trevor brought up the rear, flanked by Grant and Sypha. Grant peered around him, also entranced by the birds, and Sypha continued to gently hold Trevor's hand. Still, the brunet's discomfort was near palpable as they drew closer to Dracul, his movements stiff and stature small.

"You called for us?" That was Rosaly, announcing their presence—no doubt Dracul had heard them coming, but she could not throw away her manners so easily.

-|{D}|-

"As the matter of fact, yes I did." Dracul folded his arms behind his back as he cast his eyes to the side. "You have spent such a long time in isolation, hence, I realized, it would be a nice change of pace if you were to be exposed to a more," he trailed off, suddenly devoid of words to say, "erm, welcoming sight. All of you…" The vampire gestured at the swirling mass of birds around them. "This is the Crow's Nest. An aerie. Flocks had chosen this place to stay for a while before heading further south, to the Mediterranean and the distant shores of the Black Sea."

A haggard, stooped figure scuttled past, and the elder virtually stumbled over his own words. August seemed even surlier than usual… Nay, his entire _stature_ breathed with unintelligible rage and bitter animosity. Dracul primmed up his lips - a rage directed at _him_. Hm. Well, no matter the motive, it could wait till after he's done. The poisoned drink was his primary objective.

Blackened claws clicked against the metal as his fingers ran down the gilded goblet. "And, accept this. It's cranberry juice, plain and ordinary." Dracul let out a brief chuckle and his lips quirked into a tender smile. "Hopefully you all had a hearty meal - the juice certainly can upset an empty stomach."

He jerked his hand. "But before anything else, I want to introduce you to one of the inhabitants of this place. He and his clan dwell below the Bernhard's wing, and his name is Blackblood. But don't mind him; he _won't_ hurt you. Blackblood?"

Short-winded, the lycan trotted up to the vampire on all fours. "Salutations." The werewolf grinned. "And you must be the wards of our Lord. Pleased to meet you."

-|{T}|-

Their reactions were muted—after the revelation they'd just had, none of them were eager to venture close to the vampire, much less his large, furry counterpart. Yet, the fact that he had sent an invitation—not a demand—and that he was offering this solely, it seemed, for their benefit, helped them relax, if only a little. Their guard was still clearly up—but they would play along, for now.

Of course, the sight of Augustus all but fleeing their company did nothing to bolster their spirits. "Well _that_ certainly bodes well," came Isaac's quiet drawl, though he was quickly silenced by an elbow from Hector.

The lycan's grin did little to soothe their fraying nerves-the flash of so many vicious teeth was not exactly a sight one would call _comforting_. It came off as more of a threat than a friendly gesture-a threat of what awaited them if they strayed just slightly far afield. Hardly something they'd needed-the memories of the firestorm were still vivid in their minds, and that alone was enough to keep them from testing their captor's patience too much, if at all-but that was what they got.

The group huddled together, Grant clinging to Trevor's side as Sypha's grip on his hand tightened, Julia hiding away behind her brother's taller form, Hector gently pushing Rosaly behind him. It was obvious they were intimidated, even without the way their heart rates began to climb and their breathing became uneven.

They held still for a short while, coming to grips with what was before them-until Adrian broke the spell, stepping out and away to enter the aerie proper, giving the lycan a nod of acknowledgment-and perhaps greeting-as he did so. While none of them were brave enough to _speak_ to the creature, at least they were not bolting for the relative safety of their chambers.

Following Adrian's lead, the others ascended to the aerie, breaking off into little groups-none dared to be alone, even when the meeting was supposedly a friendly one. They did not have enough trust in them for such recklessness.

Julia stepped towards the overlook, her brother steering her well clear of the vampires and lycan. The lass stared at the birds as they danced through the air, the beginnings of cheer in her demeanor-she seemed the least affected by the revelation of Augustus's identity, at the very least. Then again, she had only seen the man once-and that had been for a scant few moments. He was just another face to her. Isaac seemed pleased that his sister was beginning to smile, though the tension in his stance never eased, and he was continuously glancing about him, as if bracing for something to come and attempt to assault them.

Trevor remained close to the exit, Sypha and Grant with him. He was silent-clearly still very much hurt by the knowledge that his godfather was damned, and by the harsh rejection the man had given him. Sypha and Grant began to speak, trying to draw the boy's thoughts away from what was troubling him, but the attempt was met with little success.

It was the older three that chose to brave the company of the dragon and the lycan. Adrian took the lead, head held high, though the tight fists at his side betrayed his agitated nerves. Hector was close behind, slightly to one side-posting up as if he were the second in command of their rag-tag brigade. Rosaly trailed behind her fiance, worry furrowing her brow, but otherwise, she was silent. All of them kept the vampire between themselves and the lycan...regardless of the fact that they knew the vampire was the more dangerous of the two.

Adrian broke the silence, gesturing towards the goblets. "May we?"

Upon receiving a nod, he carefully passed a pair of goblets to his companions before taking one of his own. As with the water that Dracul had first given to Trevor, that first night, Adrian was the first to take a sip, and only when he gave the other two a bit of a shrug did the other two begin to taste theirs.

Hector frowned a bit at the flavor-clearly it wasn't to his taste-but he seemed ready to finish the goblet he'd been given, at least, if only not to upset their captor. Rosaly, however, seemed to like it well enough, and she was quick to finish hers. Adrian stopped halfway, leaning around to peer at the Laforeze siblings. Upon seeing Julia whispering something to Isaac, whose hand was on her shoulder, holding her in place, Adrian sighed, downed the rest of his goblet in one swing (pulling a bit of a face as he finished it) and then grabbed another two. Excusing himself quietly, he moved to deliver them to the bickering pair.

Silence once more-until Rosaly set her empty goblet aside, murmuring a soft "thank you, ser," to Dracul. No reason to be unpolite.

-|{D}|-

"Rooks—" Dracul outstretched his hand, and a jet-black bird landed on his palm after some hesitation. "Or Latin for _corvus frugilegus – _'food gatherer', belong to the corvidae family. But unlike the common crow, rooks possess a patch of white skin around the beak, so they are easily identifiable." A pinch of rye was offered to the bird and it voraciously gulped everything down in matter of seconds. "They're omnivorous, and will eat anything ranging from insect larvae and slugs to grains and fruit. They're also quite intelligent and can be tamed by a skillful hand."

Whilst he talked, he kept a close eye on the children before him. Rosaly had already finished her juice, and the young squires were eager to follow her example. So far, so good. None of them had suspected a thing… then again, Trevor, together with Sypha – the ones who absolutely _needed_ to taste this special beverage — had chosen to stay away from the others.

The vampire's eyebrows climbed up. No, approaching them in their current state would only spook them further, but, perhaps, one of their own would accomplish something… walled off to him.

"Rosaly?" Dracul quietly called out the adolescent healer beside him. He shook the clingy rook off and gathered two of the unblemished goblets with the liquid into his hands. "Could you take these to Trevor, Grant, and Sypha? Perhaps, you could aid me?" The breath hitched in his throat against his will; if his little experiment proved to be a success, the girl _should_ be far more cooperative now. She _should_ be more outgoing towards him. Only time could tell if this were to be the case.

-|{T}|-

Those that were close enough to hear the vampire's words watched as the bird landed in his hand with various degrees of awe and caution. Julia seemed excited at the sight of one so close, and made to approach—yet Isaac held her back, murmuring something into her ear with a frown. The pair beside the vampire listened calmly, and Hector's eyes seemed a tad brighter—the youth had always preferred animals to people, and now was no different.

Rosaly jerked a bit at being addressed—Dracul had never spoken to her directly before, and she had not expected it to happen now—but listened quietly all the same, watching the vampire with soft brown eyes. As if sensing her unease, Hector reached out and took her hand—they had gotten betrothed recently, waiting only for Hector to be properly knighted to be wed—except that he would no longer be a knight, trapped as he was in this place. They had said nothing, for they felt more important things needed to be tended to, yet it weighed on the pair all the same.

The young healer blinked at the request, her gaze turning to fall on Trevor, Sypha, and Grant, still near the steps they had entered from. Dracul was observant, it seemed, and right to ask for aid—Trevor would not come near the vampire willingly, nor would he touch something offered by those clawed hands. Whatever trust the boy had placed in the vampire's words and deeds had shattered. The lass didn't even know if he would drink the juice once it was proffered, even with a push from her. Perhaps if Sypha or Grant encouraged him, but otherwise? He would simply refuse.

She turned to glance back at Dracul, frowning slightly. Why was the vampire so concerned with getting the pair to drink? Surely missing one goblet of juice—however nice it tasted—was nothing to concern himself over. He could simply send more with their dinner, if he wished. Had he noticed how they had all skipped meals, unable to muster the will to so much as eat under their present circumstances? Was this an effort to boost their moral, in some odd way?

Hector's hand squeezed hers, and the two locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. A moment passed, and another…and Rosaly set her goblet down, picked up the other three, and quietly moved to approach the trio by the stairs.

They turned to look at her when she approached, Grant and Sypha's expressions curious and Trevor's muted and blank. Words were exchanged, and Rosaly offered the drinks gently. Trevor made no move to accept, as she had assumed would be the case, but after a moment and another brief exchange, Sypha reached out and wrapped her hands around one of the goblets, pulling it towards her and sniffing at it before taking a sip. Grant followed suit soon after, though it was clear he was badgering Rosaly with more questions. Eventually the healer got the lad to begin drinking.

This left Hector alone next to their host and his companion, a fact that made the silver-haired youth shift in discomfort, though he allowed none of it to leak into his expression. After a moment of silently watching his beloved speak with the younger trio, he took another sip of his drink and turned to raise an eyebrow at Dracul over the edge of his goblet. "You've yet to give us some name or title to address you by," he noted, voice soft and polite—the tone of one that was uncertain how thin the ice they were treading on was.

-|{D}|-

Deep lines furrowed the vampire's brow as he briefly cast his eyes at Trevor and the gang gathered around him. He _did_ look sickly, an unhealthy pallor smudged his skin here and there, and the normally twinkling eyes were dead, rimmed with unusual redness – clearly, something has distressed the youth quite profoundly. But what could it be? What could've escaped Delilah's attentive eye? Dracul's mouth twitched.

Eight-and-half of torturous years had forced him to evolve. It wouldn't be surprising if Trevor would demand a similar period of time to familiarize himself with his new life… before standing up to his greatest challenge. Yet, the boy would not face it alone, would not be subjected to the same amount of pain Gabriel's own body had undergone. Not now, not ever. And time… well, he had an abundance of this precious resource now.

Hector's voice made the vampire jerk. He glanced at the squire, and a perplexed 'hm' left his chest with a grumble. Truly, nearly three months had passed since he had accepted the children under his wing, yet they knew not how to address him. That shortcoming had to be redeemed. He had introduced himself the moment they've met back in the castle, but…

The elder could feel his lower eyelid give off a faint twitch. Earth be forsaken, he would not return to that thrice-cursed name. Its association with the Heavens nearly made him nauseous.

Still, an answer had to be given. "Dracul," the vampire said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "It is a derivative from the Latin '_Draco_' which means the Dragon. But you already know that." His lips stretched into a faint smile.

-|{T}|-

The silver-haired youth watched the vampire's reaction carefully, as if bracing himself for any sort of backlash he might receive. The twitch of the eye made him stiffen—and then the response, in it's calm, measured tone, made him relax slightly, back to the muted caution he'd borne himself with before.

Silence, a flinch at the name—but he nodded, responding in an equally quiet tone, "Aye. The name fits you."

There came another noise of excitement from nearby—one of the birds had seen fit to perch near where the other small group of children stood, and Julia was bouncing with glee, her spirits lifted by the occurrence. Grant tore across the aerie at the sight, wanting to get close, spilling a bit of his drink on the way, much to the amusement of Adrian. What would ordinarily be a mundane thing became full of a magic all its own when one had been trapped for months. Isaac and Adrian, standing to the side, were both smiling tentatively, and exchanged a few soft words before taking another sip of their drinks.

So far, the only one that had yet to taste the beverage was Trevor. The little Belmont stood by Sypha and Rosaly still, and shook his head upon being proffered the goblet once more. He seemed entirely uninterested in drink of any sort—but then again, he looked as if he were uninterested in most everything, by this point, and like he needed a good night's sleep and a full meal.

Still, Sypha drank, chatting with Rosaly as they watched the birds dance on their wings. Occasionally they would turn to address Trevor—it seemed as if they were trying to convince him of something—but the boy only blinked at them, a slight frown on his face. He turned away for a moment, and then made as if to leave on his own—but stopped just after the first step, reaching down to pick something from the stones beneath him. Returning to the girls, he twirled the thing in his hands for a moment, as if considering something, before reaching to slide the thing behind Sypha's ear, his lips moving in a quiet comment. When his hand pulled away, her own rose to feel the tips of the feather that now graced her hair, the black stark against the bright red.

The girl spoke again—it seemed she was imploring for Trevor to do something—and the boy heaved a sigh, before reaching out to take the goblet Rosaly offered. He did not drink quite yet, instead swirling the contents around as he stared down at it, posing a soft question that sparked another round of conversation.

At this point, footsteps approached the vampire and the silver-haired squire beside him, and Hector's gaze shifted to find Isaac there, Julia peering out from behind him. The pair were silent for the moment, Isaac looking far too tense for comfort and Julia using him as a shield—or, perhaps, it was he that insisted on shielding her. Regardless, the little girl seemed to be gathering her courage as she lifted her gaze to meet Dracul's, until finally her voice came out, soft and small, as she held up the empty goblet. "May we have some more?"

There was the slightest snort of laughter from Hector.

-|{D}|-

Hector's snicker was countered by the vampire's appeased chuckle as he glanced down at the young healer and her empty goblet. "Of course, Julia. I'll just need to retrieve the pitcher with the juice first. I shall return in a few minutes."

With these words, Dracul excused himself and, after making sure all of the children were preoccupied with either the waltzing on thin air birds or the absent-minded lycanthrope, strolled into the neighboring chamber where a large barrel filled to the brim with the maroon-tinged fluid stood. Ah, the result of the late-summer harvest.

The vampire dipped the ewer into the juice and carried it over to a table in the corner of the room. There, Dracul once more nibbled on the base of his index finger, careful not the sever any major arteries or veins buried underneath the skin. Once done, he curled his hand into a fist and counted every single bead of blood as they dribbled down into the pitcher. And just as he was finished—

"What are you doing?" A hoarse voice reached out for his ears. Dracul's grip on the silverware tightened before his mind could recognize the tone behind those words. He let out a stiff sigh.

"Earning their trust," the elder vampire replied, glancing over the shoulder. Augustus filled the entirety of the space near the doorway, those red eyes of his wide with… puzzlement? "What can be done, must be done."

The former soldier approached cautiously as elder vampire stirred the contents of the ewer with a glass wand. This allowed the Prince to take a closer look at his old friend.

Well-well, it seems these several weeks of purely hedonistic, yet civilized life had affected Augustus in a better way. The hideous deformities marring his skin and bone alike had shrunk, waned away to reveal a more human-like appearance. Now, if not for the leathery wings sprouting from his back and a few burrows running down the soldier's temples, Augustus could be mistaken for a normal person. Oh, and it appeared that his wing-like appendages could detach at any given moment, as well.

"What seems to be the trouble, August?" Dracul eventually asked. "Is there something vexing you?"

"The youngsters! The youngsters are vexing me!" The fledgling snuffled, teeth bared in a soundless snarl. "Just... just from one brief confrontation- I...! And Trevor! He knows what I am, Gab-!"

"August."

His friend's face abruptly lost what little color it had. "Uh, w-well, I- I-" His shoulders slouched, and a choked stutter escaped his lungs, "Just look at me. I'm a bad horror show! I'm a sniveling wreck, broken and wretched! Even the _children_ pity me as though I'm some cripple. Stop humoring me, Drac; I am an instrument which had served its purpose-"

Briskly, the vampire lord drew near the bemoaning soldier and wound his hands about his shoulders. "Now, listen up, Cresces," he declared in a soulful voice. "Erase that thought from your mind. You are not useless – you mean a great deal to countless people. Me. Trevor. Even Josephine who, I might add, is waiting for you to return. We will not abandon you, so don't you abandon us."

A sniffle. "Y-you really think s-so?"

Dracul offered him a compassionate smile. "Aye. We're here for you."

August's lips twirled in a melancholic smirk. "Th-thanks, Drac. It- it really, uh... it means a lot."

Still smiling, the elder vampire went back to the table. "Oh, can you help me with these- I appreciate it. And before I forget, we will need to… take care of your rudimentary wing appendages in the near future. Amputate them in some manner."

"Amputate them? But—!"

"Put your trust in me, August. I'll find a quick and painless way."

With this, Dracul, together with his friend, returned to the main area of the aerie, goblets in hands, and addressed the children gathered there. "I brought more of the juice. Help yourself to how much you'd like to, and I wholeheartedly hope that Blackblood did not cause any trouble."

-|{T}|-

The little girl flinched a bit at the laughter, wondering what had provoked it—but upon being reassured that her request was going to be tended to, she managed the slightest bit of a smile in the vampire's direction. She couldn't muster the courage to verbalize her thanks, but, well, so it went.

The three nearest watched the vampire leave in silence, Hector stepping aside slightly to allow Dracul the space to venture…wherever it was he was going.

Grant and Adrian rejoined them, questioning what was going on. The news that Julia's request had gone over well prompted a smile from the both of them—Grant because he, too, enjoyed the juice, and Adrian because of the lack of any sort of trouble.

All of them kept quite clear of the lycan-Julia and Grant both kept the older boys between them and it-though beyond that, none of them remarked on his presence. It seemed they were trying to pretend the lycan just wasn't there-if only to play at normalcy.

"Well, well, well." The beast's guttural voice made their hair stand on edge. "This seems to be my cue. Hrn, come closer, pups, for I shan't go through this again."

The reactions were rather immediate-both of the little ones gave yelps and hid themselves behind their elders. Isaac wheeled around to level a glare at the lycan, pale eyes narrowing. Hector's hand fell on Isaac's shoulder, and he leaned in to hiss something in the redhead's ear, which had the boy scowling at the ground.

Adrian gave the lycan an incredulous look, as if surprised that the beast thought any of them were going to be at all willing to approach. Still, he took a cautious step forwards, arms folding across his chest. "We can hear you quite well from here, if it's all the same to you."

The werewolf pulled his muzzle in a grimace. "Unmannerly whelps," they heard him mutter under his breath. "I'll cut to the chase - the Prince has requested me to clue you in. Some areas of the castle are off-limits, even for the ones who bask in our Lord's favor. For your own safety, stay above ground level; no meandering, understand? I may be a sophisticated specimen of my species, but my brood is far more feral. If you trespass, you _will_ be slaughtered, for we're unswervingly loyal only to our Prince. Got it?"

The dire warning was met with a scowl from Adrian. "The warning is _appreciated,_" the way he said the word made it clear he didn't mean it, "but unneeded. Do we honestly look foolish enough to so brazenly court death? Besides-we cannot go to where you kin den if we cannot even leave a single tower."

"That's beyond my concern, human - I'm here just to instruct you. Keep off our turf, and we won't bother you."

"Then consider us instructed, lycan." Adrian's response was cool, and with that, he did something that was, perhaps, incredibly foolish-he turned his back on the lycan and stalked back to the group.

The vampires returned to find the five still huddled together, their muttered exchange going silent the moment one of them spotted the crimson coat of the Dragon. While Adrian was still scowling over _something_, none of them made any comment of the lycan or his warning. They simply accepted the second serving of juice, doling it out among themselves and finding a place on the overlook to sit and converse and enjoy the fresh air-someplace away from vampires and lycan both.

Rosaly joined them soon enough, concern written on her soft features. "What did the lycan want?"

"To give us bit of advice we didn't need," Adrian muttered, "and generally be an unfriendly mutt."

"And _you_ have made us our first real enemy," Hector countered, voice just as low, stormy eyes sharp as he stared up at his counterpart. "Haven't we enough to worry about without you picking fights you cannot win?"

"Isn't everything here our foe?" Isaac growled, a snarl in his tone, even as an arm wound protectively around Julia's shoulders. "God only know those rabid dogs won't be the only ones that will think us a waste of space."

"That doesn't mean you should go around _antagonizing _them," Hector growled back, a hand coming up to twist Isaac's ear. His flat stare returned to Adrian. "_Either_ of you."

"Ow-Hector, let go!" Isaac protested and tried to swat the elder's hand away as Adrian rolled his eyes and quite pointedly changed the subject.

"How is Trevor doing?"

"Ah, Sypha managed to talk him into drinking, though I doubt he'll finish his goblet-he kept making a face whenever he took a sip. But that's probably for the best, as he hasn't eaten today…"

Speaking of Sypha-the young witch had excused herself from Trevor's company as the others muttered in their little circle, and instead of joining them, she instead approached the two vampires. Cautiously she peered up at the pair-and then spoke, her voice uncertain, yet her green eyes determined. "Excuse me, ser...ah, Augustus, wasn't it?" She waited until she had his attention to continue. "If it's not too much trouble...would you be so kind as to speak with Trevor, just a little bit?"

Unspoken was the reason why-the fact that the boy had been wounded terribly by his godfather's earlier snarl. He would not approach the man of his own accord, not when he believed himself to be in trouble-but that didn't mean that Sypha wouldn't approach the man _for_ him. She had no desire to leave her friend to sulk.

The fledgling eyed the young Belnades for a moment, and a furrow twisted his ridged forehead. He gave Dracul a quizzical glance - as if asking for encouragement - and earned himself a brief nod of the elder's head. "I g-guess, I can," he answered after some hesitation. "The lad deserves it."

Sypha flashed a beaming grin and stepped out of the soldier's way. Clearly halfhearted, August approached the frowning boy. "Trevor," he called in a rueful voice, "can we s-speak in private, please?"

The boy's head jerked upwards, surprised as he was at the sudden company-especially since that company wasn't one of his compatriots. His expression was still melancholy, but he gave Augustus a nod. "Yes, ser."

Such was the way Trevor had been raised-he had no parents or family, just commanding officers. Even his godfather was his superior, and his teachers had been quite clear-_if he gives you an order, boy, you obey._ This was no different. And so he pushed himself to his feet and followed the fledgling silently, swirling the juice that was still left in his goblet without thinking much about it. He was hardly paying attention to where they were going, and so he almost ran into Augustus when the man stopped.

"Sorry, you know," began Augustus. "Sorry for snarling at you. I was… upset that you recognized me. These past few months… they were a tough nut to crack. But… I'm getting better. I _will_ be better."

Blinking, Trevor's head tilted, like he was confused by this particular turn of events. He was getting an apology? But shouldn't he be in trouble, for...well, doing whatever he'd done to upset his godfather so?

"So- No hard feelings, aye, lad?" That achingly familiar smirk quirked the corners of the warrior's lips.

The smirk coaxed a smile onto Trevor's face, his eyes brightening just a bit. That was more like the godfather he remembered-the one that had always been willing to pull him aside with a joke or silly tale. A bit of tension left the boy's shoulders, relieved as he was that he hadn't lost his godfather, like he'd feared. Maybe Augustus was going through a rough patch, but so were the rest of his friends-with time, hopefully things could return to a semblance of the way they were.

A nod was Augustus's only answer, at first. Perhaps the boy moved to return to the aerie-only to pause. Turning back, he gave his godfather a soft smile. "Augustus…?"

"Aye?"

"I...I'm glad you're here."

It was a selfish thing to say, in truth. Augustus had a life of his own, a wife, a relatively high position-and he had been ripped away from it all to end up here. Trevor shouldn't have been _happy_ that his godfather was damned, but Trevor was happy to have someone familiar to turn to. If nothing else, the man knew how to make him laugh.

The fledgling let out a good-humored chuckle. His bandaged hand snaked around the boy's shoulder, and August pulled him into an embrace, sniveling just a little bit.

Trevor hadn't been expecting the sudden movement-and so his goblet, still mostly full, spilled onto the floor, even as he yelped a bit and tried not to just fall over. Once he regained his bearings, he blinked down at the mess. "...Oops." Turning back up to Augustus, he murmured a sheepish, "I don't have to clean that up, do I?"

"No, but you should at least refill your cup and finish it."

"Aw, but Augustus! It tastes nasty!"

"You barely tried any of it, Trevor. Just have the one."

The boy made a face, but relented. "_Fiiiine._ Just one."

With a bit of a chuckle, Augustus clapped Trevor on the shoulder, and they made their way back to where the others were waiting, spirits noticeably brighter.


	7. Interlude: Wishes

**Aliya: another chapter, another interlude. Hopefully the next chapter will arrive faster than this one. Oh, and get ready, cause ch8 is where stuff hits the fan with the speed of a jet. **

_Aw, don't _warn_ them about that, that's no fun~! ...But yeah, sorry about taking so long again. Your patience, as always, is much appreciated! I hope you enjoy~_

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 28__th__ of August 1058. Brotherhood of Light Compound "The Radiant Heart of St. Michael"_

Bread crumbs spread across the ground. Chirping loudly, a host of sparrows swooped down like miniature projectiles. They bounced about even as the knight-commander's hand rose to sprinkle a handful more of treats into the air.

Such fervor, such passion. The Brotherhood could use some of it, Valeriy thought. In particular after the much-maligned foray. So many had fallen in just a few hours, with almost absurd ease, too. Mindless slaughter, was that all this atrocious creature desired? It couldn't be. Not with the bishop insisting that eight of the youngsters who went missing that night were now in its clutches. What for? Why _children?_ This _had _to be far more convoluted than attempting – oh, dear God! – to breed them like cattle.

Almost three months had passed since the attack, and the stronghold was on it way to recovery. The dead were laid to rest and mourned. The living tried their best to quench the dread in their hearts. Clerics and priests all retreated to their sanctuaries to work on protective wards. Footmen began to patrol the boundaries of each and every village or citadel. The Brotherhood Paladins kept vigilant watch over the common folk. Even now Valeriy could see the familiar golden glint of their armor as they cut through the crowd. The aged warrior followed one with his stare, and he felt envy prick his skin.

The shuffle of footsteps made the commanding officer pause. A soldier came forth, right hand raised in upbeat salute. Fair-haired and somewhat androgynous, 'twas hard to tell that this man was an expert of dark magics in his own right. "Ser Valeriy. You wanted to see me?" he spoke with a soft burr.

"Ah, Pierre! Done with your prayers already?"

"_Oui_\- yes. Shadow Magic can be a fickle mistress, but it can be subdued. It's all in the way of how you perceive it," the Frenchman responded with a short bow.

The knight-commander moved to the side of the bench. "Please, have a seat."

"_Merci._" The mage obeyed. "_Quel est le problème_, captain?"

Valeriy cleared his throat. "To put this as concise as possible – I need you in my party for this next assignment. We need a Shadow Maven if we're to succeed."

Suddenly the air about the mage, which had been relaxed and easygoing, turned sour. Pierre withdrew, just slightly, a frown tugging at his lips as his brow rose. "...What sort of assignment requires such, ah, specialized abilities?" Shadow magic was… tricky to handle, after all, and the ranks of the Mavens were far fewer in number than any other force in the Brotherhood — save the hallowed Paladins themselves.

Valeriy paused, choosing his words carefully. He would not force any man to go on this quest with him — but he was not lying. He needed every advantage, every asset he could get in order to grasp victory, even if that meant turning to a wielder of magics he cared not for. The lives of children were more important than petty grievances. "A rescue mission. I've been… informed that several children lurk in the clutches of a vampire. They've been kept hostage ever since the night of the attack. In the Bernhard's Castle. We seek to extract them."

Pierre flinched, just slightly, and his cheeks went pale. While nothing official had been announced about the identity of the assailant of the Radiant Heart, rumors circled. Exaggerations of the beast's power, extrapolations of what it was and what it wanted — even whispers of the missing children had begun to surface, fueled by those that had known them, or knew their families. No doubt Pierre had heard many of these, and had come to his own conclusions.

"We are not hunting the beast," Valeriy was quick to add, his voice as reassuring as he could manage, "merely trying to save the children from its grasp. With luck, there will be no great battle, but we need all the skills we can gather to delve into that accursed place. We need both Light _and_ Shadow. And, what's more, you have worked with many of the squires. They will know your face."

Pierre's only response was a scowl. The mage's arms crossed across his chest, his shoulders rising just slightly. Valeriy despaired, knowing what was likely going through the man's mind, but he refused to give up. "Come now, Pierre. Were it young Abigail, would you not wish to see her freed as soon as possible?"

The Maven scoffed, turning away just slightly. Valeriy almost felt angry with the man. What sort of father was he, to have no compassion for even his own daughter? And Pierre had been friends with Gabriel, as well. How could the man bear to simply leave his friend's son in the clutches of a monster?

But he was not given the chance to speak any of these thoughts. The sound of armored footsteps approaching cut off whatever he might have said. Turning, he found a pair of golden-armored Paladins standing guard — his stomach twisted just slightly — and between them stood the Exarch. Valeriy and Pierre both moved to stand and bow, but Volpe waved at them, a rueful smile on his face. "No need, my good men. I trust you're organizing the venture, Valeriy? Have you chosen Pierre? He will be a valuable ally, no doubt."

Valeriy opened his mouth to inform the Exarch that Pierre would not be accompanying him, and Pierre himself looked like he wished to say something, but Volpe continued, still smiling that rueful smile, like he knew of some terrible secret. "How like you, Pierre, to devote yourself to the Lord's work. After all, what better way to thank Him for such a gracious, self-indulgent life than to fight to save the innocent from damnation? Christ himself would congratulate you."

Sweat was beginning to dot the mage's brow, and Valeriy watched the man glance back and forth between him and the Exarch. There was a moment of tense silence, and then finally the Maven sighed, nodding slowly. "As your Illustriousness commands, so it shall be."

Valeriy beamed, reaching up to clap Pierre on the shoulder. He paid next to no attention to the displeased scowl that was leveled at him in return. "Wonderful, my good man! May God bless and guide your magics in our work."

"I trust it is not just the two of us?"

"Of course not! Three others will be at our side. A healer by the name of Ekatherine, another mage who specializes in scrying called Drahoslav, and a member of the new heavy brigade — ah, here he comes now. Raphael!"

Turning, they saw the looming figure of a great warrior — a giant by the standards of most, why, he was at least two heads taller than the knight-commander himself! — trudging towards them. Behind the man was a couple, clearly nobility, if only just. What could they want?

The soldier approached, giving Valeriy and Pierre both a gruff greeting and bowing slightly to Volpe, before pivoting to look at the two seated soldiers once more. "Is this another member of the… expedition?"

"Aye. This is Pierre, one of the Shadow Mavens. He has agreed to aid us. Pierre, this is Raphael, one of the elite, taught by Grandmaster Quisada himself."

The Frenchman nodded, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. Good. He seemed to be regaining his composure and resolve. Valeriy was thankful for that. They could not afford to entertain any sort of misgivings or uncertainties about this endeavor.

"In truth, ser, I wished to speak with you about the mission. Or, rather, I would like to introduce you to the lord and lady Laforeze, that they might have a word with you. My lord?" The heavy warrior stepped aside, gesturing for the couple to step forth.

Laforeze. That explained everything about their presence. Valeriy knew of couple's firstborn — the number of times he'd scolded young Trevor for getting into a spat with the boy! And if he recalled what he'd been told correctly, the couple's young daughter had also been whisked away. What a horrible thing, for a girl of such a tender age to be subjected to trials and tribulations that seemed to come straight out of nightmares. Valeriy swore he would do all he could to set things right. For all the children.

The couple gave all of the soldiers present a respectful bow, greeting them in soft murmurs. It was the man that spoke, his blue eyes hard as he met Valeriy's gaze. "We've been told that you are the one to speak to about recovering our children," the man's voice was stiff, yet not hostile. He was clearly strained, wracked with loss over the fate that had befallen his children. "I know you have already been informed that Raphael has agreed to join you on our behalf, but there is more we would like to offer. Should you want for any equipment, or spellcraft, or even mere rations, we will gladly see that you have it. No matter the cost."

Valeriy's eyes flicked to Raphael for a moment. So the man had agreed to join for the promise of coin? Well, the knight-commander would not complain. He would need all the help he could get in order to save the children, and so he would not turn down Raphael's aid, no matter the reason for it, nor would he reject lord Laforeze's generous offer. "I would be grateful for the aid, my lord, my lady. I will see to it that your generosity does not go to waste."

"Please, ser Alajos," the woman spoke, her voice raw; no doubt, she had been weeping of late, "bring our children home."

"I will do everything in my power."

"...When do we leave, Commander?"

"Dawn." Valeriy's answer was swift and concise. "See to it that you are prepared. Raphael? Would you be so kind as to begin arranging for our supplies?"

The heavy warrior nodded, and proceeded to escort the worried parents away, to discuss prices and payments, no doubt. Pierre, too, bid a hasty farewell and retreated. The commander watched the man stumble, frowning. Hopefully he'd get rest before the time to march came.

Valeriy made to stand and leave to make preparations of his own when he heard the Exarch dismiss his two guards — if only for a moment. Blinking, he turned to give the man a baffled look, only to watch as Volpe lowered himself into the spot that Pierre had occupied not moments ago. "Lord Farenheights has also offered his unconditional support of our efforts. Including access to his rather… esoteric library of tomes and items. I believe Drahoslav is sorting through such things now, to see if any of it might be of use. And I am certain that if you were to visit the families of the others, they would offer you whatever aid they could."

Valeriy smiled. It was subdued, but still true. "What parent would not wish to aid their child?"

Volpe shifted slightly at that, as if something about the statement made him nervous. The smile on the knight-commander's face faltered as he watched the Exarch fidget in his seat. "Your Illustriousness, is something wrong…?"

The arch-priest perked up. "...Your mission is extremely important, Valeriy. Do what you think needs to be done. Don't let emotion cloud your judgement. And whatever occurs, do not lose faith. Can you promise to do that?"

"The Almighty has guided my hand and directed my will throughout all my life. I wouldn't abandon Him, no matter the circumstances." These words were spoken with conviction.

"Good. And… one more thing." Volpe's gaze rose to meet Valeriy's, measured and guarded. "What would you do if you came across… someone who has lost themselves?"

"I'd lay down my weapon and show them the right path," again the answer was filled with conviction, though perhaps confusion colored it, "and persuade them to rediscover their faith. I would tell them that salvation awaits them in Christ's embrace."

Volpe nodded, a grim smile gracing his withered features. "Good, good. I must leave you now- Duty calls. Godspeed, Valeriy."

Valeriy nodded, giving the Exarch a slight bow, before watching the man depart. Sighing, he elderly knight leaned back, staring up at the sky. Such dark tidings — his fingers brushed against the coarse surface of his combat cross. Things had not seemed so bleak since… since the last time he had seen his own foster son. What he wouldn't give to have Gabriel's humble honesty, his devotion, his drive in these times!

Laughter interrupted his thoughts, and he brought his gaze back down to earth in time to see a pack of young squires running, calling back and forth, voices bright despite the tragedy that had happened so recently. Unbidden, the thought of Gabriel as a child came to mind, and then, sudden, there was Trevor in his mind's eye, eyes bright and smile pure despite the hardships he should never have had to endure.

But that's how it always had been, hadn't it? Even in the darkest of times, there was always hope to be found. There had been hope then. Now-now he would be that hope. For those children. For everyone who had suffered from the attack.

Sighing, he shook himself free of those thoughts, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet. His body protested with age, but he ignored it. There was still work to be done in the Lord's name, after all. He had preparations to make, supplies to see to, and prayers to utter. There was much to be done before the expedition could leave on the morrow.

As he walked through the citadel's courtyard, he stopped at the statue of Gabriel fending off the Queen. Impressive and proud, it towered over the squalid houses. Valeriy's heart ached and swelled all at once, as it always did when he laid eyes upon the stone image of his dear foster-son. Unbidden, a hand rose to trace the edge of the base, feeling the cool marble underneath his fingers. The sculptor had done an exquisite job capturing Gabriel's likeness — Valeriy could almost imagine that it was the man himself, and not a mere statue.

Again, he found himself filled with the desire to have his son at his side once more. Surely Gabriel would never have allowed his own son to be kidnapped by any foul creature! But Gabriel was resting with his beloved Marie, and Valeriy would do what he could to look after their son. Trevor was his student, after all- no, Trevor was his grandson in all but blood. He would not leave the boy to some dark fate at the hands of a beast.

Still, the aged commander could not help the longing in his heart.

"Ah, how I wish you were still with us, my boy… But you're in a better place now."

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 2__nd__ of September 1058, Bernhard's Castle, Balcony._

A low groan rumbled out of the former soldier's chest, causing the elder vampire to divert his attention away from the documents, logs, and missives spread on his table. Without delay, he approached Augustus's resting place and hovered over the malnourished man. Good, he was slowly coming to.

"How are you feeling?" Dracul questioned in a quiet voice. "You slipped into unconsciousness from the shock."

"As if a cohort of goblinkin trudged all over my poor head. Stupid pygmies," August replied, netting himself a faint chuckle from the other vampire. "Is it done? Or was it just phase one?"

"All finished. Trouble yourself no longer," the Prince added, smiling crookedly. "It could take a few days for the lacerations to heal, so I advise you to not overstrain yourself." His grin grew a little wider. "Your bloodpool is almost depleted, so I took the liberty to help you… revitalize it." He nodded at a senseless human figure huddled in the corner of the chamber. "Help yourself, and don't worry, I'll see to your wings. A good medic always goes through with the procedure."

Augustus gave a wheezing cough and sat up in his coffin. "If you can call _let's chop off his wings with a nether-like sword_ a procedure. No wonder I passed out. "Keep still, August," my arse."

"Hush, at least you look like a decent human being now." Dracul leaned forward, scrutinizing his friend's features. The soldier twisted his arm to fiddle with the clean-cut stumps jutting out of his back. A moment, and he shrunk back with a hiss. The elder let out an easygoing chuckle. "You can't see yourself, that is true, but I can safely say you look four fifths just like I remembered you. Some of bones are still malformed, but it will pass. Hopefully."

"Hopefully?"

"See, I'm not exactly _sure_ what had caused you to sprout these… disfigurements in the first place, my friend. Is it an outside influence, or some property of the blood I'm not aware of… I don't know. I _suspected_ something like this could occur, - Carmilla's corrupt brood, after all - but still. It caught me off guard."

August dangled his legs across the edge and jumped down. "Well, I kinda figured that, pal. Though, perhaps, it might be a wise idea to jot down anything unusual we see. Without the Queen and that br- ahem, _Laura_, it falls to us to keep track of… of vampire lore, I _guess?_"

"That's an idea. But, August, you never were the bookish type-"

Malevolence flashed in the warrior's bloodshot eyes. "Oh, did I say, "us?" I meant you, Drac."

"Wha- Why me?" Dracul balked. "I don't write, August."

"Really?" Was the deadpan answer. "Then what about all those poetic descriptions of the Forgotten One and your overall thoughts on the subject? That freaky book was out in the open, too. "Eternity of blood" takes the cake, however, that last sentence with the "my prey" is a runner-up."

"Look who's feeling better already," the elder vampire smirked. Again, he found himself unable to be furious at that cheeky face. "And it is a genuine relief. To see you recovering so fast, that is. This place would've been bleak without you... Oh." He tapped Augustus on the shoulder, directing the man's focus at the stirring heap tucked against the wall. "He's waking up. Eat. Before he starts squealing for his life."

"Wh-what?" A strident chortle echoed in the fledgling's throat. "A-are you joking?"

Dracul frowned.

"Oh, God, you're _not_ joking." August's brow rose. "Ah, thanks, I'm flattered, but... I'm, uhm, I'm not hungry. And I'd rather let the poor sap go-" His eyes darted towards the bleary-eyed mortal.

The elder's scowl melted into a grimace of distaste, and he folded his arms.

The corners the soldier's mouth curled down. "L-look, it's one thing to drink out of pewter goblets. Okay, alright, I'm down with that. But to k-kill an innocent- c'mon! We fight _monsters_, not men!"

The prisoner's shriek reverberated across the chamber, and Dracul heaved a morose sigh. A single flick of his wrist, and a bright-red, wiry cord ripped the captive's tongue out. Another lash sent him tumbling face downwards. A deep, ragged wound was etched into his back. August swallowed loudly, yet in spite of all that, the soldier remained motionless. His hesitation was starting to get under the elder's skin.

"_You_ are this monster now, August," he grumbled, "give _them_ half the chance, and they'll plant a stake in your heart."

"That's… that's not true!" the fledgling exclaimed, voice laden with panic. He took several steps back.

"Did _you_ stop when standing up to lesser lycans? When battling Carmilla's servants? When clashing against Zobek's headless burrowers? Those creatures were human once, too. Our brothers-in-arms."

"That was different," his friend gainsaid, "they attacked us. They were stamping out towns and villages. They-" His gaze grew glazed, and he swiveled to glance at the huddled up prisoner. A faint, crackling noise reached out for the elder vampire's ears, and the next moment, he found Augustus slamming both of his hands across his mouth. It didn't take long for Dracul to work out the reason. The man had – at long last! – smelled spilled blood.

Smiling, the Dragon walked up to the fledgling. "They attacked us because it's in their instinct. Instinct to kill, instinct to prevail. Otherwise, they'll die. Just as mortal man butchers cattle to survive, so do we. Think nothing of it."

Tears welled up in August's eyes. He muttered something incomprehensible.

Without speaking another word, the vampire lord came near the sniveling captive and scooped him up. August's nostrils flared as Dracul got back, hauling the groaning man by his forearm. The warrior's hands slowly slipped to reveal inch-long, tapered eyeteeth, laced in saliva. The sharpened ends dug squarely into his lower lip, drawing beads of blood.

"W-why...?" his friend managed to lisp, hyperventilating.

The elder lifted the limp mute to his eye level, and a wistful sigh escaped his chest. "I had to figure out the principles of this curse on my own. It was... hellish. I simply wish to aid someone I see as a close friend." A heartfelt grin quirked Dracul's mouth, and he twisted the simpleton's head to the side. "Now, feed."

August's eyes flickered wildly and, eventually, settled on the pulsating vein hidden beneath the oily skin. He paused, indecision apparent on his features... Then his canines pushed out a little more, and a small line of drool dribbled down his chin. Mouth agape, the fledgling lunged and buried his teeth into the mortal's jugular. Blood gushed out of the man's punctured artery, and a wordless wail tore open his throat. Moments passed, and the cry abated, bubbling away into nothingness.

The soldier drank deeply yet ineptly, coughing and wheezing, though Dracul couldn't blame him. The first swig was always the toughest to swallow, but at the same time 'twas also the most memorable. To feel the vessel shrivel and die in your embrace. To feel the intoxicating warmth bud within you... and then find yourself gnawing at a dry artery. Euphoric.

The fledgling uttered a throaty moan, and staggered back, away from the desiccated corpse. Red freckled his face and chest, but Augustus did not seem to pay any attention to it. He heaved a choked half-snigger half-sob and bared his fangs. "Is this what it feels like _every _time?" he asked, crimson eyes aglow. "Wow. It... it is fantastic."

A proud smirk tugged at the elder's lips.

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 3__rd__ of September 1058, Bernhard's Castle, Overlook Towers_

He technically wasn't supposed to be up this late. Nor was he supposed to be outside of their little tower. In fact, Grant was currently doing a great many things he really wasn't supposed to be doing, but, well, such was the way of Grant.

Things had gotten a _slight_ bit less unpleasant for him and his friends, of late, but only just. Sure, they were constantly given some of the berry juice whenever they wished, and they were allowed to go to the aerie at their leisure, but, well-that wasn't really enough. Grant was _bored_. Books and birds did him little good in warding off the horrors that lurked in his memories-he was not so good with his letters and the books the Dragon had provided them with were far above his level, and the birds, well-they were birds. They were fun to look at, and every once in awhile he could get away with chasing them, but for the most part, they were nothing more than a passing fancy. Grant couldn't stare at birds all day the way Julia could. Then again, Julia had also started talking to the birds, which would've probably worried Grant if he were older and not...well, Grant.

Regardless, this left little Grant in a bit of a pickle. His friends could only help him so much-wrestling matches and impromptu lessons in brawling were fun, but they couldn't be a constant thing. There were no places to explore, either-they'd no reference as to what areas would offer them safe passage and what ones only held mindless monstrosities, like the lycans. And since none of them were foolish enough to gamble with their lives, well, that meant they could only really do one thing-stay put.

It made an active little tyke like Grant _restless_. And being restless only made his nightmares worse.

That was why he was awake when he shouldn't be. He hadn't jolted awake screaming this time-not like usual-but it had still been bad enough that he couldn't go back to sleep. And this wasn't the first night, either-the poor boy couldn't rightly remember the last time he'd slept a whole night. It must have been before the Dragon had come and whisked them all away-but that time barely felt real, anymore. It almost seemed a dream in of itself.

Typically, one of the older ones was on watch, and Grant would turn to them for comfort. Surprisingly enough, all of them were willing to humor him-even Isaac, who was grumpy on his best days. The little boy had been shocked at first, but after two or three times he'd simply accepted it, as he had with everything that had been so abruptly changed in these past couple months.

But, lately, they'd stopped keeping watch. There had been no conscious decision, no collective agreement. It had just...happened. And so Grant woke gasping in the night, and no one else was awake to see.

A part of him had wanted to jump onto Trev's bed and shake him awake and curl up by him, or perhaps bother Adrian and let him fuss and fret just like always, but for once, those things hadn't been appealing. Where typically Grant's nightmares involved little more that dark fire and wisps of ash, now there was more to them. Even since the dragon-raid, Grant had begun to see Trevor pulling him into the flames, or Adrian's bright blond hair disappearing in the smoke. Even Hector and Isaac appeared sometimes, despite neither of them having ever been particularly close to little Grant, getting separated from him by dark flames or dark ashes or dark figures with hellish eyes.

So, considering how entwined most of his companions were in his latest nightmare, Grant didn't really feel up to looking them in the eyes right yet. He opted instead to go outside and see the birds. Nevermind the glaringly obvious holes in his logic-he was a scared child, and thus hadn't thought the idea through. Off to see the birds he went.

Of course it was near impossible for a little boy to see in the darkness. The windows hardly let in enough moonlight, if there even was any moonlight-Grant couldn't tell. But he thought he remembered the way, so he figured it would be no different than sneaking into Trev's room back in the fortress. Just a little bit longer of a trip, that was all.

He was wrong, of course-there were a few turns that he'd have to take that he would know in the light but miss in the dark. But, lucky for little Grant, _something_ seemed to be looking out for him.

Well, lucky was, perhaps, not the best assessment. Whatever it was that sought to look out for him, it did it in a way that he did not appreciate.

A nearby brazier erupted to life, coating the hallway in a warm glow.

With any of the others, this would have been a startling occurrence, yes, and they would likely have needed a moment to regain their composure, but they would have coped well enough. Grant, on the other hand, was _terrified_. The moment flames were born, he let out a strangled scream and _bolted_.

The light of the torches did, of course, light the way, so he didn't end up taking a wrong turn and getting lost in a very dangerous castle full of things that would happily eat him, but still-the way that he was being guided hurt more than it really helped.

Soon enough, he was outside, away from the hallways and the braziers that suddenly birthed flames and into the welcoming arms of the chill night air and the moonlight that filtered across it. He didn't stop running, at least not until he tripped on the steps leading to the aerie proper. Tumbling with an 'oof!' his momentum was quite abruptly halted, and the boy had to take a moment to push himself up and regain his bearings. Despite the fact that he'd stumbled on stone steps, he didn't appear to be at all injured-at least, not noticeably so. He'd probably have bruised elbows and knees, but there hadn't been a single drop of blood spilt. That was good-Adrian and Rosaly would both fret over the boy if he came back with scrapes or cuts, and Grant wasn't really in the mood to be fretted over just yet.

Or maybe he was. He didn't know. He just knew that he was scared and cold and on the brink of tears and he didn't like it. Pushing himself back to his feet, he slogged his way up to the aerie itself, only to find it empty.

Of course there were no birds flitting about-it was nighttime. Birds were like people, they slept at night, unless they were owls. But up here were crows, not owls, so they'd be sleeping, just like he should be. Grant felt pretty stupid for not thinking of it sooner, which only made him sniffle a little more.

That's about when the voice reached him. "What brings you here so late, Grant?"

The boy squawked in shock, stumbling backwards and losing his balance, which landed him on his rump. Out of the shadows stepped a familiar shape-that of the vampire that had claimed the lot of them like trophies. Grant gapped up at Dracul, who approached with an easy gait, absently petting a creature that clung to his shoulder. Was that a bat…? Oh. Delilah, he remembered. Delilah was her name, wasn't it? The flying fox's beady eyes burrowed into the tyke's, and she let out a questioning squeak, as if wondering why he was staring so blankly.

Ah, what did that matter? The sudden appearance of the Dragon had done little to help the boy's mood, and Grant had to fight to suppress a wail. But-no, that wouldn't do! The boy couldn't let himself cry in front of the vampire, it wasn't right! All of the others put on such brave faces when their captor was around, even though Grant knew they were all just as scared as he was. He couldn't cry, he wanted to be brave, like Trev and Isaac and Hector and Adrian. But what would any of them do in a situation like this?

...Well, that was easy for Grant to figure out. Adrian would scold.

"Don' ya know it's not nice to sneak up on folk like that? Why can't ya walk 'round like a _normal_ person?"

He liked to think that was an _astounding _impression of Adrian, if he did say so himself.

Dracul paused, as if taken aback by how forward the little boy was daring to be, and for a second Grant was terrified that he'd said something _really_ wrong and was in trouble and he was going to be eaten or something. Which, in all truth, was something he believed was a very real possibility. A small hand came to pick at the hems of his sleeves-an old nervous habit that had already ruined a good number of the nice shirts that Dracul had provided for the boy.

The Dragon, however, did not seem at all upset-in fact, if anything, he seemed amused. An amiable smile spread over the vampire's face, and his tone was genial when he replied. "Believe me, little one, I _am_ trying to announce my presence, but I can't help it. Stealth and shadows are a part of my nature, no matter how much I try to subvert it."

Grant, partially surprised that he was being let off so easy and partially still nervous, merely grumbled in that way that children do when they realize an adult has a point but don't want to admit it.

"You did not answer my question, Grant," Dracul's tone wasn't upset, unlike the men who had once been responsible for the orphans. It was merely a gentle reminder that the vampire had asked, and wanted a response. "What brings you here in the dead of the night?"

"Wanted ta see t'birds," Grant grumbled out, shoulders slumping a bit. He still felt stupid for forgetting that birds slept.

A worried crease ran across Dracul's forehead, yet his smile didn't falter. "This is hardly the ideal time for such a visit."

"Well, 's not like ya let us go anyplace else!" Grant shot back, slumping a bit more. Great, now the vampire was all but laughing at him. The poor boy felt like crying again.

_That_ caused the smile to dissolve into a frown, and Dracul's tone was more serious now. "It is not safe for you to wander these halls, Grant. I am sorry, but the baser creatures which reside here know nothing but their own hunger."

The implications of that were lost on Grant. He was, after all, a boy of a mere eight years, and thus it was hard for him to truly understand the concept of someone getting _eaten_. Though he did think that maybe the Dragon would do such, it felt more like a fairy-tale than an actual life-ending threat. Surely the Dragon would just swallow him whole and cough him up later after he'd sat in his belly and stewed for a little while!

Besides, he was bored and he'd had a nightmare and the Dragon had been having a giggle at his expense-or at least, it had felt like he had been-and so Grant wasn't in the mood for things like _reason_. He was in the mood to be pouty. "Aw, but mister _Dracuuuuuuul!_ Ya _promised_ that nothin' would come after us! Can't we go out a lil' bit? It's _borin'_ bein' all cooped up in tha' stupid tower!"

The elder primmed his lips at him. However, despite that, a glimmer of joy twinkled in those eyes. It was as though the vampire was fighting laughter. "Please, put the emphasis on the _a_ and not the _u_. It's a miniscule thing, but a lot of folk these days get it wrong."

Having not gotten an answer to his request, Grant only pouted harder. "Well, mister Dr_a_cul," there was a little _too_ much emphasis on the a now, as Grant was nothing if not a cheeky child, "if yer not gonna let us go anyplace, could ya at least give us back our trainin' stuff? So we can practice jus' like we used to!"

It was an understandable request. Grant had yet to really understand the purpose of their training, the fact that they were being groomed to deal death-and to face it-on a regular basis. To him, training with a blade was a fun little pastime that Adrian had shared with him. He and his friends had spent many an afternoon on a secluded hilltop, working on grips and footwork and guards and parries and strikes. Any child would want such happy times back, in this sort of place.

Dracul fell silent, a thoughtful look on his face. Grant blinked. Was he seriously considering his demands? Just about every adult he had dealt with before would have brushed them off, if only because he was pouting and on the brink of throwing a bit of a tantrum as he spoke. But no, the Dragon wasn't scolding him for not minding his bearing or pitching a fit like a toddler. The vampire simply seemed to be turning something over in his mind.

"...I'll see what I can do," the Dragon said at last, and Grant's jaw about dropped when he heard those words. But Dracul wasn't done. "Your wish is not an ordinary one, but perhaps if I oversee you all for the immediate future… offer advice or even a demonstration-"

"_Grant!"_ A distant voice cut off what the Dragon was saying. It echoed from inside the castle-and it sounded like a very upset Adrian.

The tyke's shoulders slumped a little more. Oh, he was in for it now. Adrian always had the longest lectures when he got that tone. Sure, it was more born of worry than actual anger, but it still was something Grant didn't want to deal with.

"It seems that you're needed," Dracul noted, stepping forwards and offering a hand for the boy to take, which was a surprise. "Go, rest. I will see about your request."

Grant, stupefied beyond all belief at the fact that the Dragon was actually considering his childish request, took the vampire's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The hand was cold, and the claws sharp-but the grip was gentle. Delilah, who until recently roosted on her master's shoulder, seized the opportunity and skittered down the elder's arm, only to come to a halt near the edge of the tyke's shirt. Sniffing inquisitively, the bat crawled onto it. The boy shrunk back, yanking his hand away. Bats were, after all, considered horrible nasty things that helped vampires and should be feared and hated. Maybe, had he not been so spooked by the fire and the strange way the Dragon was acting, he'd have been curious and would have let the bat do whatever, but now? The boy was staring at the little thing like he was waiting for it to bite him. He didn't move to shake it off, or swat it away, or anything-scary or not, Delilah was the Dragon's bat, and Grant was not about to upset the Dragon.

"Well that's… certainly a novelty." The vampire lord's brow rose. "Hah, don't worry, she doesn't bite. Come now, Delilah. I can plainly see the discomfort you're causing the boy." Dracul scooped the overly-curious bat and deposited her back where she belonged. Delilah scrambled down his coat and clung to the gilded studding. Yawning, she wrapped herself in her wings and started to rock back and forth.

"Egh, pay her no mind," the elder commented feebly. "She likes to sway before she falls asleep."

That was...kind of adorable, if Grant were to be honest with himself, and he probably would have been far more accepting of the little thing if he hadn't been on edge. As it were, he was frozen, unsure if what he was supposed to be doing now. Was he supposed to say something, or pet the bat, or just leave…?

Adrian called out again, and that broke the spell. Grant was bolting down the stairs again, his courage sapped dry by the strange encounter. At least his friend's lecture was something familiar, unlike too-kind dragons or torches that lit without so much as a spark.

* * *

_Next day. Bernhard's Castle, Guest Wing._

That morning, Grant woke to a bit of a surprise.

He'd been sleeping in Adrian's bed, since he hadn't felt comfortable being by himself after all that weirdness that had happened, but Adrian was no longer there. Not surprising in of itself-all of the squires were used to waking up at dawn, and even this place couldn't seem to break them of the habit. No, the strange thing was the sound of conversation around him.

More specifically, one of the voices in that conversation.

Jolting up, Grant yelped a bit as the blanket flopped over his eyes, preventing him from seeing what was going on. There was a familiar snicker-it sounded like Hector-and then the blanket was yanked away.

Sure enough, there was the voice Grant had thought he'd heard-the Dragon himself. The boy blinked, and gaped, and blinked and gaped some more. Maybe this was a dream? That would make sense, right? But, when he pinched himself, it hurt-and the Dragon was still there. Not a dream, then? What could have possible happened, to bring Dracul himself here? ...Was Grant in trouble? He had wandered about after dark, and that was exactly the sort of thing the folk of the Brotherhood didn't like him doing-

"-I don't suppose you will object if I keep an eye on your progress today. I will not interfere, merely supervise, but if any of you wish for my… expertise, I will be here."

The Dragon was speaking, leaning against a table that held-wait, were those _weapons?!_

Sure enough, there was a familiar longsword-Grant would know Adrian's blade anywhere, considering the number of times he'd been swatted with the flat of it. And there was another beside it, thicker and broader, that must have been Hector's, and there was a spear and a set of knives and-

Unable to contain the sudden rush of joy, Grant launched himself from his place on Adrian's bed and bounded over to Trev's, where the boy in question was slowly munching on a piece of what smelled like bacon. But Grant didn't care about the bacon, he cared about the fact that they had their things again, which meant that they could practice again, just like always. Things could go back to being happy again!

"Trev, Trev look, he's brought yer cross an' everythin'!" Grant bounced up and down on his friend's bed, jostling the boy by the shoulders. Trev, for his part, did not seem particularly keen on dealing with Grant's boundless enthusiasm at the moment, and resorted to yanking the smaller boy into a headlock, even as he continued to munch his bacon.

Grant replied with a series of insults that would have earned him a right scolding, were they back in the fortress. As it were, the others just rolled their eyes or ignored his plight, save for Sypha, who called out with a laugh. "Oh, leave Trevor be, Grant, you _know_ he's useless before breakfast is done!"

Grant's salvation from his unfortunate position came in the form of Isaac, believe it or not. Of course, Isaac hadn't intended to free Grant with his actions, that had been a side effect. Instead, the redhead had drawn the redwood spear that Dracul had brought for him, given it a nice once-over, and then leveled the tip at Trev. "Say, Belmont, you up for a round?"

Trev had turned to give Isaac the sleepiest stink eye the world ever did see, letting go of Grant in order to find something suitable to lob in Isaac's general direction.

He didn't need to-the next moment Hector was dragging his younger counterpart away by the ear, growling out something about how Isaac was to do a number of drills before he was allowed to even _think_ about pointing that thing at another person. And if he tried to spar with anyone before Hector said he could? Well, there would be hell to pay. Isaac protested, and was quite pointedly ignored.

Grant snickered, abandoning Trev and his complete and utter lack of energy in favor of darting over to the table itself to see what was there. Oh, the knives were small, they almost looked like they could be used for throwing-he turned back to pounce on Trev again. "Treeeeev, yer good at throwin' things, ya gotta teach meeee-"

"Oh no you don't!" There was Adrian, grabbing Grant in yet another headlock and dragging the little boy away. "You're eating breakfast before you even _touch_ one of those things."

"Aw, but _Adriaaaaaaan!_"

"But _nothing._ Eat!"

Grumbling, he flopped on his bed once he was released from his friend's hold and took the plate Rosaly passed him. He made quite the show of eating a piece of sausage, giving the blond squire the best pouty glare he could muster as he did so.

A quiet chortle rang out, and then Dracul spoke once more. "As a matter of fact, before you all get lost in your drills, perhaps you might wish to join me for a walk? I've decided to open up a new lookout tower and its link for all of you to explore, should you so desire. August and I were up all night trying to make it accommodating. So understandably, we're quite anxious to show it off. Plus, now that he's all patched up, he wants to get to know those of you who he hadn't had the opportunity to greet yet."

Grant couldn't help but gape and blink at the Dragon some more at that announcement. Not only were they given their things back, but they were allowed to _wander_ now? Was Dracul _feeling_ alright? This wasn't normal, was it?

"Eat with your mouth closed," Adrian muttered from beside the boy, swatting him lightly upside the head. Grant pouted at him again. He'd seen Adrian's face when the Dragon had said they could go someplace new. He'd been just as gobsmacked!

Of course, every time he tried to open his mouth to point that out, Adrian told him to get another bite. The jerk.

While Grant ate and perfected his pouty face in Adrian's general direction, Sypha had wandered close to the Dragon and the armaments he had provided and had selected one of the daggers, presumably for her own use. She looked over the blade for a moment, and then turned to give Dracul a baffled look. "But...what brought all this on?"

"Ah, well, a little bird told me you all might enjoy a change of pace," the vampire replied, a twinkle in his eye.

When he caught Grant staring at him again, Dracul winked.


	8. Chapter 5: Lament

**Aliya: Welp, we've run into **_**exactly**_** the same problem I'd encountered when writing the end of Rebirth: too many words. 14 thousand and a half to be exact. So we decided to split it for your convenience. But don't worry, both parts of this chapter will be uploaded. No cliffhangers here! :D **

_Yooo, also, we've got something else for you guys. Ali and I have opened up a sideblog dedicated to this sprawling fic of ours. On it you can find character profiles, concept art, and bits of writing that didn't fit into the fic proper for whatever reason. There's only a couple things up now, but more will come! You can find the link on Ali's profile~_

* * *

-|{D}|-  
_  
Year of Our Lord, 5th of September, 1058. The outskirts of the Bernhard's Castle. _

The castle's gothic steeples stood out against the foreboding gloom. The Queen's infernal residence. The hub where impious fanatics conducted their vile experiments. A palace of demon worship. Such a godless and inhospitable place, Valeriy thought, and scrunched his features up in a grimace. The spawning grounds for evil. Oh, what would he not give to extinguish its wicked flare once and for all.

Dread wound its scabby fingers about his heart, but the aged knight-commander could not endure the idea of turning back now. They had made this far; he had to have the belief they'd come all the way. He was spearheading this mission. He had to urge his companions forward. What kind of servant of God was he if he couldn't quite restrain this... this feeling of unease?

But what if- bah! 'Twas not the time – or place! – to doubt. Shuddering, Valeriy swiveled on his heels and cautiously descended down the slope where his associates awaited him. The old crusader's ossified joints crunched under the weight of his body, but he left the pain unheeded.

"You can dismount and begin pitching tents," Valeriy informed, "we're here for a while."

"Come again?" Ekatherine, a compassionate but fairly simple-minded healer, rounded her eyes. "We're not venturing forth?"

The knight-commander came near his horse and began unpacking the provisions. "Nay, m'lady. We need time to plan our move. Evaluate our chances. Keep an eye on the overlord of this castle. Preparation, with a touch of luck, is the key to victory."

"_En outre, mademoiselle_, 'twould be extremely _not_ wise to breach a _vampire's _castle in the dead of the night," Pierre added from his saddle, tone meek.

The clergyman in mauve-orange robes and foppish spectacles tipped his head. "Humph, if it indeed were so!" Drahoslav – or "that fevered doomsayer" as he was also known – razzed. "Through a Farsight spell I managed to decrypt that the citadel's catacombs are teeming with harpies, lycanthropes, and specters. _Just_ the catacombs. Strangely enough, the enchantment picked up only a _dozen_ or so vampires."

"Perhaps they're skulking about, and your charm cannot trace moving targets?" the axe-wielding heavy interjected brusquely.

"When I require your input, Raphael, you shall be notified." The diviner bored his gaze into the querulous warrior's skull. "Now, if you don't mind... Yes, I'm convinced there is only a handful of _moroi _left." Drahoslav arched a questioning eyebrow in Valeriy's direction. "And no sign of anything remotely draconic in origin. Alajos, I thought you said a _dragon_ had raided the Radiant Heart."

The crusader uncorked a small wineskin and took a sip. "Slava, I wasn't there when it happened. The only concrete evidence we have is a fresh gravesite."

"Moreover, the drakes have been extinct for eons, old man." Pierre's mouth pinched. "If I were you, I wouldn't put stock into hearsay."

Drahoslav knitted his brows. "Hmph! But how would you explain the forest fire then, pariah?"

"Well." The Frenchman leaped from his steed. "Most likely, the beast that had taken up residence in that cesspit has some degree of control over fire. That would explain the peculiar shape of the burned down area. A flattened out _Q_. It was pursuing the kids on purpose. Almost as if it was shepherding them. But why-"

"Ack, for Almighty's sake!" Ekatherine sniffed in contempt. "They're mere children! Indoctrinating them is far easier than full-grown men, mage!"

"Or perhaps it desires to twist them into its half-witted thralls," Raphael intoned. "What's even more atrocious than a bloodsucker? Abloodsucking _child with no self-control_."

Valeriy frowned at his squabbling compatriots. "We can discuss the monster's motives at a later date! We've more pressing matters to-"

"That abomination kidnapped them and them alone," the Maven countered. "_Dis-moi_, ser Alajos, these youngsters... They're special, aren't they? Why would the beast go to such great lengths otherwise? Why would the Exarch _himself_ be that insistent we save them from perdition whilst so many of our abducted brethren have died without so much as a glimmer of hope?"

"The arch-priest's business is his own," the knight-commander stated vehemently.

"Is it because of Gabriel's kid?"

The words grazed against the knight-commander's ears. "Monsieur Moitessier, we're here to rescue all eight of the kidnapped youngsters, not just Trevor. Nobody gets left behind. Not in the clutches of that godless creature."

"_Oui, je comprends, mais_ Trevor is our priority, isn't he?"

Valeriy ground his teeth together. Why in God's name was the Frenchman this adamant? Bullheaded even. "Trevor is the only one capable of eradicating this darkness," the crusader grumbled in response. "Because of his blood ties with Gabriel. Obviously, this monster is conscious about the fact and chose to take action. Does this answer satisfy you, Pierre?"

"So we're putting our faith in a ten-year-old who scarcely knows how to fight." A frustrated scowl weaved the mage's face. "God, help us_._"

"But- but if it did acknowledge Trevor's existence, then why did it wait this long before making its move?" Ekatherine bit her lip. "Wouldn't it be even simpler to abduct a defenseless nursling?"

"I do not know," Valeriy replied after a drawn-out pause. "And this is what's making me anxious. Why would it hold back? Why would it abduct the lad rather than kill him? This is all too strange..." The knight-commander startled back to reality. "But enough of that. We're on a mission. Raph, Kathy, set up camp. Pierre, you've first watch. Drahoslav, scry for the children. When you locate them, start looking for a humanoid robed in an overcoat. And keep watch on the horde. We can't afford to be waylaid."

* * *

_Dawn. Ruins of Wygol Village._

"According to the map, this is- _supposed to be _Wygol. A checkpoint between human civilization and the Vampire's Castle. What... what happened here?" Ekatherine mouthed, and a sickly pallor tinged her cheeks. "What could have caused such devastation?"

Valeriy felt his innards shrivel at the sight. Wygol was such a lovely little village, in spite of its location, everlasting winter, and hardhearted inhabitants. Many pilgrims had visited this hamlet to pay their respects to the unidentified warrior who was resting in the local mausoleum. The abbey that towered over the rest of the houses attracted many scholars and clergymen from across the land. A few boys under the crusader's command hailed from this settlement, as well.

But now everything was reduced to a foul-smelling mound of rotting wood and rock. Dismantled homes, clogged wells, splintered carts and wagons... Grass, weeds, and fungi had already claimed some of the debris for their own. The incursion must have commenced a handful of months, if not years, ago, then.

How on Earth did the Brotherhood not realize that an entire settlement had been razed to the ground? And then it struck him. There were no survivors to break the news. Yet those troops who had been sent to safeguard the common folk... Their disappearance _would_ have sparked questions. Would the elders keep this tragedy under wraps? Aye, mayhaps, to avoid panic. They needed time for Trevor to mature before they could unveil their plans.

"Search for survivors," Valeriy ordered, "check the houses, the abbey, the church-"

"Ser Valeriy, it's futile," Raphael's feeble voice returned. "It's clear that the creature had made extra sure no one would leave this place alive."

The heavy's allusion did not escape the aged knight. Indeed, the destroyed settlement was devoid of any human remains. No carcasses, no cadavers, no bones. The man's hold around his weapon stiffened, and he drew a sharp breath.

Glancing about, the company walked into what looked to be a market square. Fetid water sloshed about their booted feet – whatever had attacked Wygol must have also flooded the village's complex sewerage system. No doubt the monster had understood the strategic importance of those tunnels. Luckily, Valeriy knew of a way to fix that. The sewers, once drained, would lead them straight into heart of the evil.

"...Eh, where's the sepulcher?" Pierre's voice had a pronounced edge to it. "Shouldn't there be a sepulcher here?"

The knight-commander flinched. Indeed, there were the heavy cast iron gates, blasted off their hinges. The Wygol cemetery, derelict and in disarray. And beyond... nothing. Just a sole, stone obelisk in the center. With his gauntlet-clad hand over his weapon, Valeriy approached it, and he felt his heart sink.

'Twas a great stone cross that had once watched over the hero's tomb. Or what was _left_ of it. Aslant and forgotten, it had chunks carved out, almost as if someone had taken great joy in _pummeling_ the holy symbol. The fist-sized holes had scorched edges, too. Feeling sick to his stomach, Valeriy tore his gaze away. To see something this sacred destroyed was too much for his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his companions catch up with him.

"Hgh," Ekatherine said, "at least now we know it's not on speaking terms with the Almighty."

A gloomy sigh fled Raphael's throat. "A shame indeed. This was one of our most hallowed places. The warrior had battled the vampiric horde till the very end."

"Come." Valeriy beckoned as he turned away. "There has to be a crank buried somewhere beneath this rubble which allows us to manipulate the underground cistern. It will empty the sewers and allow us to carry on." He then added with an upbeat smile, "Hope you all don't mind getting your feet wet. Well, wetter."

The Frenchman did not move. The commanding officer stopped to offer him a perplexed eyebrow. Pierre's hand traveled to a small leather pouch buttoned to his chest and took out a small, violet stone. "Whatever that creature is, it _will_ pay for this sacrilege," he murmured as he stroked the sleek surface of the Dark Crystal.

* * *

_Noon. Bernhard's Castle, Front Gates._

Valeriy puffed as he helped his compatriots pull themselves up out of the sewer shaft. The links of the Vindicator's combat chain rattled as they were reeled in. Heaving a pant of exhaustion, the crusader holstered his cross and looked around.

He and his companions stood before the forbidding front of this castle of the damned. Statues of demonic riders and weeping women watched, hostility evident in their stony stares. A shiver trickled down the knight's spine – he could feel it. An aura of wordless hatred and resentment flowing about the cesspool like River Styx. This black aura could demoralize even the stoutest of soldiers. Fill them with uncertainty. Make them question their beliefs and their goals. But with proper training and mindset, its ill effect could be canceled.

His fingers swept across the surface of a bejeweled talisman strapped to his girdle. The blue gems flashed, and a gentle zephyr rippled past them. "The place reeks of evil," Valeriy elaborated and inserted his Light Magic medallion into a special slot on his right forearm, "this will protect us. Slava, your report?"

Drahoslav tilted his head back, and his eyes grew dim. "Ah, yes," he responded, "the overlord of this castle hasn't moved for the past two hours. Judging from his – as he is indeed a male – pose, he's slumbering. Presently, we're in the south-eastern parts of the fortress. The swarm is restless, but it did not leave the boundaries of the undercroft."

"What about the vampires?" asked Pierre.

"The scrying spell informs me that a pack of moroi is asleep in the auxiliary tower to the west. There's also one which is wandering – for some inexplicable reason – but it's quite a distance from our position. And the children... the children are meandering as well, and are above us." The clergyman blinked, and the spell around his eyes dissipated.

"The lookout towers?" Valeriy glanced up. "My friends, we have our destination. Let's move, and keep conversation to a minimum. Be on your guard."

* * *

-|{T}|-

_Several hours later. Bernhard's Castle, Overlook Towers._

_Schak. Schak. Schak._

The sound of a chain extending and retracting echoed in the late afternoon air. Trevor spun and twisted, carefully running himself through his independent drills, the ones he'd been taught to focus on when his teacher was busy. While he only knew a couple of maneuvers with his cross, he'd worked on those scant few with enough diligence to have them down as muscle memory. Twist and swipe, slide and sweep, spin and slam. His movements were precise, for a child. He was no master-but he was off to a good start to achieve such a goal.

When he finished one of his drills, he paused to wipe sweat from his brow. He'd spent pretty much the entire afternoon working on this-perhaps now was a good time to call it quits. It was still an hour or so before dinner, so perhaps he could wash up, or-

-_CAW._

The boy yelped at the sudden sound of bird-he wasn't in the aerie, so why was there a crow hanging around? They stayed _outside_, didn't they?

Spinning, he found himself looking at Julia, who was giggling. The offending crow perched on her shoulder, ruffling its feathers as it gave another caw. Trevor's shoulders slumped, for he was a mite bit miffed that he'd been spooked so soundly by a measly bird. "Was that really necessary?"

"Aw, he just wanted to say hello!" Julia giggled some more. "I brought you juice! Rosaly says you need to drink lots when you're training." The girl trotted up, ribbon in her bright hair bouncing as she moved, and offered him a goblet.

Trevor slipped his cross back into its holster and took the goblet with a nod of thanks, sipping at it. He pulled a face-he still wasn't quite fond of this juice, but it was growing on him. To his surprise, Julia lingered, rocking on her feet and beaming up at him. "...Is there something else?"

"Actually, yes!" She replied in a sing-song tone. The girl switched from rocking on her heels to swaying side to side, still beaming. Despite her brother's constant bickering with Trevor, Julia seemed to hold nothing but respect and perhaps even admiration for the lad. Then again, Julia had taken quite well to all of the others-she treated each and every one of them as if they were her own family, though Isaac was still clearly her favorite. "Grant and I were hoping that you'd come with us into the new tower!"

Trevor's brow rose. "Why not ask one of the others?"

"They're all busy! Hector and Isaac are beating each other up, and Adrian's helping Sypha with her new knife!"

"...And Rosaly?"

"She'll worry too much. And she doesn't have a fancy cross like you do!"

Trevor snorted. "What does the cross matter? Don't tell me Grant's _already_ trying to climb the walls."

Julia giggled, nodding. "He said he spotted something waaaaay up high and he wants to see what it is! The birds say it's something shiny, so I want to see, too! You'll come with us, won't you? Pleeeeeease?"

That explanation made the boy pause. _The birds say_. Julia had been spending so much time with the birds of late, talking to them like they could understand her-it had some of the older ones worried. Was she alright, or had everything that had happened left her scarred and damaged, somehow? And yet, the birds did seem so very fond of her-and whenever she said they had told her something, it tended to be true.

Sypha had suggested that it could be magic. Trevor was starting to agree with her.

"Well…" He spied Julia's pleading expression and couldn't help but laugh. "Alright! We've an hour or two before dinner, so as long as we're back by then, it should be fine!"

The girl cheered, twirling in place and sending the crow flapping into the air before suddenly breaking off into a run. "Yay! C'mon, Grant's this way!"

"Hey, let me put the goblet back first-Julia, wait up!" Trevor tore off after her, laughing a bit himself.

-|{D}|-

The hollow bones crackled beneath the knight-commander's armor-plated boot. The skeleton let out a rattle and swung its rusted blade. With the corners of his mouth curling down, Valeriy brought his cross up a split second before the monster's weapon could gain purchase. The jagged sword clashed against blessed metal with a noisy _clang! _Using his foe's momentary stun, the crusader twirled and landed three shredding strokes against the yellowed ribcage. The skeleton shambled back and folded into a ridged pile. Another lash of the combat chain, and the heap broke down into individual bones. This particular undead would not rise again.

A curt _"behind you!"_ made Valeriy bristle and promptly sidestep. Another skeleton, brandishing a voulge this time, sprinted right past him. There was a heave, and a throwing axe whistled after it. A scrunch reach out for the knight's ears – the axe had been embedded into the skeleton's back of the head. Crimson flashed, and the skeletal warrior tumbled down, bisected across the spine. Ekatherine gesticulated, and the remains evaporated in a shower of blue sparks.

"Was that the last of them?" Valeriy wrung his head, eyes scanning for hostile movement. "Is everyone alright?"

"Affirmative and affirmative." Raphael sheathed his double-edged cleaver. "The undead fought ineptly, and were destroyed."

"These were scouts," Pierre said, rapping his fingers against the shaft of his cedar staff. Bright-red flames danced about the knob. "The main task force is bound to drop by and investigate the disturbance."

"Then let's move! I'd rather avoid the confrontation, but, if needed, we can stage a surprise attack. Then we'll have the upper hand." Valeriy headed towards the cavern's exit. "Slava? What's our status?"

The clergyman glowered at a smudge on the wall. "All clear. He hasn't moved, but I do see several lesser undead loitering near our target. If we are to reach the children and get them out before the sun sets, we'll need to battle our way through them."

"Huh, those roving remains _know _we're after the kids, don't they." The Frenchman raised a curious eyebrow.

"But how can they?" Ekatherine interjected softly, bemusement pitching her voice down. "They're naught but a jumble of bones animated through foul magic."

"Evidently someone has imbued them with consciousness," Valeriy threw over his shoulder. "We need to hurry; night is fast approaching. If we have to fight, we fight."

-|{T}|-

When they came upon Grant, he was staring in consternation at something clinging to his sleeve.

Trevor wasn't really worried-Grant wouldn't be nearly so calm if he were afraid or hurt, so the boy simply creeped up behind his friend and spoke. "What's this?"

Grant squaked, as he always did when he was surprised, and Julia giggled from behind Trevor. The little Belmont merely answered his friend's pout with a shameless grin, not sorry in the slightest. "What's that you're staring at, Grant?"

"'Sa bat. It won't get offa my arm...it's not gonna bite me, issit?"

Trevor leaned around, and sure enough, there was a bat clinging to Grant's sleeve-little Delilah, who always seemed to be hanging around their tower. She was probably there to make sure they didn't wander too far-Dracul always seemed to be able to appear where she was without warning. Some sort of magic, the boy guessed, but he knew little of such things. Sypha would be better suited for figuring it out.

...Or, perhaps, Julia would. "No, she's not! She won't bite!" The girl held her hand out for the bat, and Delilah hopped over, clawing up the sleeve of Julia's dress with a squeak. The girl pet the bat with another giggle, beaming at the boys. Delilah chirped.

"How d'ya know it'sa girl?"

"Um...I don't know! But she is."

"Well, her name is _Delilah_, Grant…" Trevor's tone was a bit dry, though his smile was in good humor. "Now, c'mon. Let's see if we can find that thing of yours before Adrian comes hunting us down for dinner."

With that, they were off, into relatively unexplored territory. They were allowed into two new towers, besides the strangely decorated one that was their home now. The first didn't seem to be very interesting-it only seemed to be the spoke of the wheel that was all the various spires of this part of the castle. They weren't allowed to go down, and there was nothing really of interest up, besides the view. Left and right were barred to them-according to Dracul, creatures lurked in those areas that they were not ready to meet-but straight ahead led to another area that they _could_ poke into. That was where Grant was leading them, trying to drag Trevor along and failing. The little Belmont kept a brisk enough pace-quick enough that Grant wasn't giving up and running on ahead, but slow enough that Julia didn't have to worry about being left behind.

They entered the connecting courtyard and Grant gestured to the top of the tower-likely their goal. "Up there, Trev! It's there! D'ya think we'll be able to get there?" It was hard to see what that thing was, half-blocked by the tower as it was from this angle. It twisted and turned-but Trevor thought he saw a path leading to the whatever it was, so perhaps he wasn't going to have to do something foolish and go for a climb after all.

"Well, there's only one way to find out!"

They had made it to the entrance of the tower when Julia stopped. "Delilah? What's wrong?" Turning, Trevor found that the bat had scamped from her place on Julia's sleeve to hide under the girl's hair-as if something had frightened her. "Do you hear something scary?"

Trevor stopped, looking around him for signs of anything amiss. Nothing seemed to be wrong-there were no monsters, no people, not even a bird around-just them. Exactly like the Dragon had promised. Nothing was allowed to disturb the children's domain, except for Augustus and Dracul himself. Except that it couldn't be them Delilah was reacting to, because she wouldn't be scared of her masters.

So what was it then?

His question was answered within a handful of moments-sound began to drift towards them, from farther up the path where they weren't allowed to go. Dracul had explained that it led into another area of the castle - Bernhard's Wing, he'd called it - that wasn't safe for them just yet. Hearing that racket, the boy couldn't help but think that the vampire was entirely correct. Whatever was going on there, Trevor wanted nothing to do with it, and he certainly didn't want Julia or Grant anywhere _near_ there.

The problem was, the sound was getting closer.

As it did, it became clearer-and Trevor began to recognize the noise. Shouts, swearing, steel-on-steel-that was the sound of _combat_.

Trevor had never seen actual live combat before-only the simulated experiences the Brotherhood put before him. Except for once-months ago, when he'd been hunted down by an undead nightmare-

-for a moment he swore he could hear the dragon's roar ringing in his ears.

"Trev?" Grant's voice snapped him out of his daze, even as the boy's grip on his hand tightened. He, too, seemed on edge, having endured that same scarring tragedy. Wide brown eyes stared up at Trevor, pleading for an answer. "Wha's goin' on?"

"...We're going back." Trevor's tone was firm, even as he looked back towards where the noise was coming from. He couldn't see anything yet, but he was sure of it-it was getting closer by the minute. "We're going back right now." And barring the door, he added to himself. If it was something malicious, they'd want everything between them and it they could manage. Adrian and Hector would agree.

"But-the thing-!" Julia protested, her voice carrying on the wind that whistled past them.

"No buts! We're going back!" Trevor's own voice rose-just a bit-as he countered, and he began to move. Grant, who was still clinging to his hand, stumbled a bit as he was suddenly yanked forwards, but he recovered well enough. His yowl as he tried to keep from falling, however, made Trevor wince. If whatever it was was out for them, they'd just made themselves targets.

Julia had no real option but to follow. She didn't like being alone in this place.

As he led his younger friends back to their little haven, Trevor drew his cross. He wanted to be ready to defend himself, should it come to that. If nothing else, he could buy the other two time to run.

The noise continued-the sound of combat was dying down, but the voices remained. Trevor didn't recognize any of the people he heard, which only made him more desperate to get away. In this place, creatures capable of speech were the more dangerous ones, and they wouldn't last against one of them, much less a group!

A raspy voice called out, something about how it had heard them. "Damnation!" Trevor whispered. They knew they were here-that wasn't good. He had to hope they could outrun whatever it was that was after them.

But that voice wasn't done-it called out again, this time louder. "Hold up! It's alright-" The shuffling of feet accompanied the words.

The sound of the voice caused Julia to stop, turning to see if she could spot the speaker. "Ser Drahoslav?"

"Damnation," Trevor spat out under his breath, but he stopped and let go of Grant so he could turn and reach for Julia. "We need to _go_-"

"But-that sounded like Ser Drahoslav!" Julia cried, refusing to move. She didn't try to pull away from Trevor, but she didn't seem to want to leave, either. "He's my teacher! Trevor, please-"

Julia's teacher? But that didn't make any sense. The only teachers Julia could have had would be normal people, and normal people couldn't just walk into the dragon's lair and survive! No, something was wrong here, and Trevor wanted to be gone.

A gangly old man came into view-Trevor didn't recognize him, and a glance at Grant told him that the younger boy didn't, either-but Julia most certainly did. She all but shrieked with joy, and only Trevor's tight grip on her hand kept her from running to embrace the man. So it _was_ someone she knew well-but that made no _sense_. How could he have made it all the way here? No man at his age could tackle a castle of the damned alone-

-as more footsteps approached, Trevor realized the error of his thinking. Of course-the man _wasn't_ alone. There were others, coming closer, and the boy thought he recognized the clanking of metal armor-what was this? An extermination? A rescue party? God, if they could go _home_...

...They would only get dragged back. Trevor would never be free of this place, not so long as his father ruled it, and he had seen what had become of knights that attempted to stand up to the Dragon's fury. If he fled, that just meant there would be another raid, another firestorm, another night of fear and flame-

-the boy's thoughts were cut short as a familiar figure came into view. He made a noise of shock and recognition-instantly his feet shifted, to stand at attention or to prepare himself to bolt, even he didn't know. That green armor, that embroidered cape, that cross-he knew them well. They belonged to his teacher.

"V-Valeriy?" In his shock, Trevor forgot the titles he was supposed to use when addressing his superior. Even Valeriy, his grandfather by adoption, was his commander before he was family. Only Augustus could be addressed with any sense of familiarity. "You-how are you _here?_"

-|{D}|-

"Trevor!" A sigh of unfathomed relief echoed in the knight-commander's chest. "Oh, thank Christ, we found you."

"That's Laforezes' girl," Raphael murmured into Valeriy's ear. "Matches the description. But where's her brother, Isaac? The parents had said they were inseparable."

"Julia!" There came Drahoslav's voice which was anything _but_ quiet. The clergyman hotfooted towards the beaming gal and scooped her up in his arms. "Oh, how I've missed you-"

"_Slava!_" Valeriy hissed. "Keep your voice down."

"Who's the shrimp?" Pierre tipped his head toward the hunched up boy peeking out from behind the little Belmont's back. The lad kept glancing back and forth between Trevor and the adults, as if asking his friend for answers.

"Dusky skin, scar, bandanna..." Ekatherine's mouth puckered. "That must be Grant. Trevor's sidekick. The two had visited the infirmary on more than one occasion, I'm afraid."

"But... that's just three of the kids. Three out of eight." Pierre's blue eyes narrowed. "What are we going to do, ser?"

Valeriy straightened up. "We're getting _all_ of them out. Trevor!" he addressed the eldest of the children. "Words can't describe just how happy I am to see you." He looked about himself, glove on his crucifix. "But this pit is no place to hold such a conversation. We must leave. _Now._ Where can we find your friends?"

"Are you sure this is wise, commander?" the Maven interjected. "We've the Belmont in our sights."

"Let's humor them." Raphael's tone was curt. "_I-_ we must liberate the other Lafore-"

-but then a foreign, yet clamant voice chimed in. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

Valeriy swiveled on the spot, combat cross ready. A lone figure stood in the shadow of a pillar that towered over the stone pit. An adult male, mantled in a weathered black cloak. Sharp-cornered outgrowths crowned his head, and a gap in his garment brought out the ridges upon his ribcage. Red eyes, wide with indignation, stared through them. One of Carmilla's brood! However, this one didn't have the wings typical to its clan. And he spoke, too! Normally, these beasts weren't up for a chat. Not that the crusader would give one an opportunity to summon its kin. His fingers curled around the hilt of one of his silver daggers.

And yet this time, Valeriy wavered. Something clicked in his brain. He had seen this man, this... vampire, hadn't he. But where? He squinted. High cheekbones, hooked nose, a thin scar marring his upper lip. By God, could this be Augustus Cresces, a member of the the Order's Wolfhound unit? The lycan trappers? But how?! He was killed during the raid! His body had been laid to rest!

Behind the knight-commander, Raphael spoke a breathy curse. His throwing axe reappeared in his hand, and before Valeriy could intercept him, the heavy hurled it. The projectile wheeled through the air... and embedded itself 'tween Augustus's clavicle and shoulder. It was evident that Raphael sought to behead the man – or at least hamper him – and would've succeeded if not for Augustus's ill-timed jerk.

The soldier lurched back and hiccuped. Blood gushed from his mouth, and then- his lips parted in a shrieking howl of pain. He sagged against a pillar, sniveling hysterically. Trevor reached out for the vampire...

"_Augustus!_" A distressed scream left the boy's throat.

So it _was_ Augustus. But how on _earth…?!_

The structure around them breathed a sigh. It shifted, stone crackling, and fell silent once more. Everyone froze, air around them thick with with apprehension. Valeriy pivoted, raking his gaze over the nooks and crannies around them. Pierre drew his staff.

"Eh, what was _that?_" Ekatherine asked.

Drahoslav jolted his head. "Ah, Valeriy-" he whispered, and his face went went as a sheet.

"Shit." A single word left Raphael's mouth.

"Raphael, grab the boys! _Now!_" the knight-commander shouted. The heavy nodded and lunged, armor-plated feet scraping against gravel. Using the Trevor's surprise to his full advantage, the fighter slung the young Belmont over his shoulder. Grant was treated in a similar fashion. In this case, Valeriy couldn't criticize the heavy and his brusque methods of manhandling the chaps.

Something tumbled from under Julia's hair. A small, red-furred bat zipped past them, screeching akin to a siren. Its fragile form vanished in the early evening air. Valeriy's muscles tautened; he knew to whom that pesky creature could belong. The confrontation with Trevor's captor was inevitable now. He turned on his heels and began to march back the way they'd arrived.

"Alajos, what about the rest?!" Drahoslav gasped as he caught up with him. His hand was pressed against Julia's small of the back, ushering her forward.

"We'll have to come back for them later!" the crusader commented, a dismal note in his voice. "But first we need to get these ones out of line of fire."

-|{T}|-

Though the wind was momentarily knocked out of him by the impact of getting slung over the knight's shoulder, Trevor was only stunned for a second. As soon as he realized what was happening, he snarled, bringing his cross up to attempt to force this stranger to unhand him. Foolish man, to leave him armed! While Trevor couldn't strike properly with the chain, the way he was slung over the man's shoulder meant he had a perfect shot at the knight's unprotected armpit. Twisting, he forced the spike into the hole in the armor, which earned him a grunt-and a blow to the shoulder. It stung, but it only encouraged him to fight harder.

He could hear the chaos around him-Grant was struggling as well, and the knight that held them was cursing them with every step, Augustus was still crying in pain, and Julia-

-Julia was screaming for him specifically. "Trevor! The bat, she's calling for him, and he's-!" The boy took another blow for his defiance, which caused him to miss the end of her sentence. Spitting out a small fleck of blood-the rough handling had left him with a split lip-he struggled harder. He wasn't leaving the others behind. Trevor refused to lose anything else! He'd already been robbed of so much, he wouldn't just sit back and let this armored stranger leave the few friends he had to damnation!

For a few moments, that's all that was happening-the adults fled, and the children struggled, and behind them Augustus's cries faded to sobs. And then, something in the air around them changed.

The only warning Trevor had was Grant's scream of fright-different from the noises he'd been making earlier. It wasn't the sound of a child trying to fight back, it was one of pure, unadulterated terror. Grant screamed, and suddenly a nearby wall exploded in a shower of flames. Jerking his gaze up away from his capto, Trevor saw another one barreling towards them, sending stone scattering as it impacted with the wall above.

He recognized those flames. They were just like the ones that had set the forest ablaze, when he and Grant and Isaac had been fleeing for their lives. For a moment, he could almost see the twisted branches of trees over his head. Shaking himself from the memory, he looked again-and sure enough, he could see the outline of a great and terrible figure stalking forwards, fire in its grasp.

They had woken a dragon.


	9. Chapter 6: Innocence

-|{D}|-

A shroud of darkness tinctured the pale-pink evening sky.

Scorching heat stroke the Valeriy's nape of his neck. Heaving a husky gruff, he yanked his eyes heavenward... just as a second fiery clot hissed past his head and struck the wall in front of him. Orange flames bit and tore at the scaffolding, downing both wood and stone alike. The knight-commander stumbled. Was he going mad? Was the _sky_ really bleeding fire? What kind of infernal flame could live off of something that _couldn't_ burn? Alas, he couldn't entertain these thoughts now. He had to get his grandchild out of this hellhole.

"Control over fire, control over fire," Valeriy heard Pierre chant behind him. "Not traditional fire, as well!" Another blast rocked the wooden walkway beneath their feet, and Valeriy had to backpedal lest he lose balance.

"God have mercy, it's flinging flames at us!" Ekatherine yelled, heavy pants escaping her chest. The fourth blast hit the stone carving above them. A veil of plaster cascaded down upon them, coating their heads in white.

The fifth bomb collided with a gargoyle perched on the rain gutter above. The hideous statue tipped and came loose, plummeting down like a meteor.

"_Slava!_" The crusader turned on his heels and shouted on top of his lungs. "_ABOVE YOU!_"

The clergyman lifted his balding head, and Valeriy could see blood drain from his face. He shoved Julia away from himself, and the girl tumbled. Safe. The next instant, the gargoyle crashed into the catwalk inches away from the diviner's feet. The wood uttered an agonized crunch, cracked, splintered, and lastly gave under his weight. Drahoslav vanished with a smothered oath. The young lass shrieked at the sight, reaching for the man. Yet her efforts were in vain.

"_SLAVA!_" Valeriy dashed, legs – collectively with adrenaline – propelling him at the speed of a projectile. The crusader ran up to the chasm, and a heave froze in his throat. The clergyman's hands were whorled about a rope. About one of scaffolding's many tethers. It was a miracle he had managed to cling to one. "Don't panic!" Valeriy called out, and his heart withered when he saw the cleric slip down the rope an inch. "We'll get you out!"

"Valeriy!" From behind him, Raphael bellowed. "Leave him! We don't have the time!"

"I'm _not_ leaving a comrade in peril!" the knight-commander snarled back. He drew his cross and took a gander down the abyss. "Slava, here! You'll have to latch on to the chain! I'll lift you up!"

"Ser, please!" Ekatherine pleaded, furiously tugging at the crusader's cape. "It's gaining on us!"

"Valeriy, listen to t-them!" Drahoslav exclaimed, voice cracking under the strain. "Go! T-take Julia and go!"

"No! I'd _never-_"

"Alajos, you d-daft _fool!_ Your h-heroics will get you _KILLED!_" the clergyman shrieked, rivulets of sweat dribbling down his forehead. "_GO!_"

Ekatherine yipped, drawing everyone's attention. The crusader's head jolted back and his mouth went as dry as a desert. The beast was striding towards them, gait brisk and decisive. Just like in the records, it was tall, powerfully-built, and garbed in a luxurious, blood-red coat. And- oh Christ! Were those _flames_ wreathed about its arm? Flames that did not burn its flesh?! A bloodied Brotherhood axe – Raphael's! – was clenched in its other, normal hand.

Yet, for some unidentified reason, it came to a dead halt once it laid it eyes upon them. But this respite did not last long; it shook its head, almost as if it was fighting off stupor, and continued its march. Behind it, the familiar silhouette of the fledgling vampire lurked. Augustus' working hand was pressed against the hemorrhaging wound across his shoulder.

There was no choice left.

There had to be casualties.

Breathing raggedly, the knight-commander pulled the wan girl into his arms. Cradling her close, he offered Drahoslav one last parting glance. The diviner glared back, brow furrowed. Valeriy nodded, eyes wide and tearful, and rushed after his allies. Julia was sobbing quietly in his embrace.

Ahead, Pierre twisted his staff and smashed it against the ground. His Shadow Magic medallion flared up, channeling destructive magic, and a tremor shook the very foundations of the castle. A geyser of scarlet energy erupted in front of the creature's feet. However, it did not faze the beast like Valeriy had hoped. It sprinted through the all-encompassing flame, nosedived, rolled, and got back to its feet in matter of seconds. Its steps echoed resoundingly as it reached the rickety platforms. Now, it was moving in streaks of unthinkable speed.

The Maven threw out his hand. An ethereal curved blade burgeoned from a pommel on his staff, transforming his unsophisticated armament into a scythe. Pierre cut a cross-shaped formation into the stone under his feet, and snapped his fingers. The symbol started to emit a warm red glow. The rune of impediment, Valeriy realized. Its power could immobilize even the mightiest of monsters!

The crusader sped past the vigilant mage, yet cranked his head to see what was happening. Pierre swept his palm across the scythe's cutting edge and balled his hand into a fist. Several drops of his blood fell atop the rune where it was absorbed with a hungriness of a sponge. Pierre took a second to inspect his work and then whirled to rejoin his commanding officer.

And as luck would have it, their opponent did not notice the snare. Or that in its arrogance, it chose to disregard it altogether.

Red, elastic ropes sprung from the rune's surface, coiling around the beast's ankles, wrists, and neck. It tripped and fell, plowing a yard or so of stone with its chin and chest. It began to wrestle, mottles of soot and embers splintering off of its form, but to no avail. This blood magic charm ignored the vampires' fabled ability to transform into mist.

Out of breath, Valeriy and Pierre ran into the grotto just as a loud, enraged roar caught up with them. The two monolithic doors leading to the Bernhard's Wing were now shut. "The rune will stall him," the Maven informed, "but we must hurry! Why is it taking so long to activate the switch?"

"I don't know!" Ekatherine yanked at the lever in the center of the cavern, but it did not budge. "My God! Why won't it _move?!_"

"Here, let me t- ngah!" Raphael uttered a curse as Trevor thrashed about, severely handicapping him. "Hold still, you insolent brat!" He twisted and cuffed the squirming boy on the head. Trevor yelped.

There was an audible crunching noise as Pierre gnashed his teeth. "A jammed lever. You've got to be kidding me. We were here ten minutes ago!"

"Can't you simply make us another escape route, mage?" the heavy demanded, gauntlet-clad hand lingering close to Trevor's temple.

"Creating a passageway would take time! Time we don't have!" the Maven retorted, pointing at the grotto's exit. "Have you seen it? That thing waltzed through an Explosive Earthquake! _Unscathed!_ You think a meager paralysis charm will hold _that_ at bay for much longer?!"

"What _is_ your purpose in this party then? What use are your vile pyrotechnics when they do not serve their purpose?!"

"They're certainly far more effective than your, ah, _skill_ at decapitating vampires!"

"My brothers! Commander-" Ekatherine's sibilant voice diffused some of the enmity in the air. "Look! Some sort of pliant... _goop_ has crept all over the lever's gears. If we get rid of it we can pry the doors open!"

"The lady's correct." Valeriy's grip around Julia's shoulder stiffened. "We can tear each others' throats when we're safe! Ekatherine, can you remove this residue?"

"Already ahead of you, general," the priestess said and drew a small serrated knife. In haste, she began to saw through the gluey matter. "It's just a couple of tendons-"

Valeriy wiped the sweat off his brow. Something wasn't right. The soldier he had believed to have died during the raid on the Radiant Heart was here. In the castle. In some half-monstrous state of vampirism. How could this be?

The crusader had himself attended the funeral to all those who had lost their lives that night. Mostly men, squires and recruits. But there were also women there, on the wagons. Almost everyone could be recognized, save for a few bodies. Nay, those were mutilated beyond _description._ The Brotherhood morticians had spent not one day trying to label the cadavers. Then the listing of all those who had disappeared without a trace winked into existence. Valeriy recalled the day when the disquieted lady Cresces raced into his accommodations to report her husband missing. Yet they couldn't do anything but offer condolences. Propose that one of disfigured bodies must be August. Josephine did not handle the news well.

Why would the beast bring him here? Augustus was a distinguished unit in the Brotherhood ranks, but hardly the most courageous or the most pious one. Or the most quick-witted. He was a forthright swordsman, with no special characteristics or quirks. Indeed, the only unusual attribute that was worthy of noting was Augustus' friendship with Gabriel. The two men had known each other since apprenticeship, had chosen their spouses from the same hamlet, and had embarked on many adventures on the Elders' behalf. Gabriel himself had spoken highly of his brother-

A worm of suspicion bore into Valeriy's skull. What if- _No!_ The crusader jolted his head. Away, blasphemous thoughts! You are not wanted here! In any case, it was out of the question!

But cold sweat had already oozed down the knight-commander's spine.

Valeriy wound his hands around Julia's shoulders and took a knee. "Julia." He gazed straight into the girl's moist eyes. "Answer me this. Who's your captor?"

Multiple tremors quaked the ground beneath them, and a blanket of smoke rushed forward. In just a few seconds it filled the cavern to the brim. It smelled of sulfur, and was dense enough to cloak everything in darkness. The frightened cries of his companions echoed across from the other side. In his hold, Julia sobbed and tucked her face against Valeriy's chestplate. The knight-commander responded with curling around her and burying his face in her hair. The abomination's inhuman shriek made the knight's blood run icy.

Instants later, something massive was smashed against the wall a few feet away from Valeriy's position. The door switch, he discerned. Oh, Christ! That unholy thing had managed to uproot God-knows-how-many pounds of metal! They weren't getting out, were they.

What followed was a thump, a high-pitched yelp, the whoosh of a bladed weapon... a squelch, and a wet gurgle. The smog dispersed. With a mute prayer upon his lips, Valeriy climbed to his feet and turned around.

Their foe stood amongst them, with one of its arms cradling the younger of the two boys. It must have yanked them out of Raphael's hold when the red-streaked mist had separated them. But as for the man himself-

Raphael had his own axe buried in his neck. Past the reinforced plating, past the rugged chainmail. Blood foamed and bubbled in the corners of the heavy's mouth. He desperately sought to dislodge the weapon, but his attacker kept holding onto to it with an iron grip. The warrior floundered, and a croak escaped his carved throat. Only then did the monster wrench the axe free... only to plant it once more. Bones splintered. The heavy's severed head rolled from his shoulders. The body toppled shortly after, clangor from his armor resonating off the walls.

There came a whine: Ekatherine and Pierre were huddled up in the corner of the cavern, breathing uneven and eyes at their widest. Luckily, they did not seem to have sustained any lasting damage.

The axe was tossed aside. The creature knelt in front of the two boys, eyes flickering from one bruise to another. It, no, _he _cupped Trevor's face in his clawed hands and spoke one simple sentence.

"Are you alright, my boy?"

-|{T}|-

Things were happening too fast for Trevor to really keep up with. One moment, he'd been fighting to get free of his captor, trying to get to his poor friend who had been shrieking himself hoarse at the sudden eruptions of flames, and the next thing he knew-he didn't even know what was happening. A whirling mass of shadow had blown past them-he'd cried out in alarm and anguish, because he had seen Julia's bright hair over there, if she'd gotten hurt he'd never be able to face Isaac. He wasn't given the chance to see what had become of her, however, for before the dust had a chance to settle he was being ripped from one grip and into another.

Shock made him struggle, but only for a moment. He could feel the chill of the person's fingers through his shirt, but there was no bite of metal. That could only mean one thing.

Trevor chanced a glance up, and he jerked back without thinking-there was Dracul, eyes ablaze with a hatred the likes of which the boy had never seen. It was terrifying, as much as watching a dragon descend upon him and his friends in a night awash with flames-

Dracul didn't seem to notice Trevor's distress, instead reaching to rip Grant free from the armored warrior and planting the axe in the man's neck all in one go. Trevor turned at the sound of Grant's cry of terror without thinking, only to freeze as a splatter of blood slapped him across the face. He stood there, stunned-not physically, but emotionally. This-this was the first time Trevor had seen a man die.

Frozen as he was, he couldn't quite turn away from the sight of the axe rending the man's head from his shoulders. Blankly the boy watched as the head fell to the side with a dull thump, the body collapsing soon after. There was the taste of bile in his throat, but still he couldn't look away. That man-he had died because of him, hadn't he? If the boy had never existed, none of this would be happening. Nobody would be suffering-not this man, not the others that were huddled in the chamber, not his friends-

Trevor didn't respond as Dracul knelt, not until the cold touch on his cheek made him flinch away. Wide eyes stared at the vampire, and the boy felt like he should be saying something. But what? His words had died again, just like that man, just like everyone else was about to-

Grant broke the spell with a wail, even as he all but threw himself to the side in an attempt to get away from the Dragon. Though the sobs were words, something about fire and smoke and ashes, no one could really understand the boy for all the crying. But the sound-and the movement-was enough, and Trevor's gaze snapped away from the vampire to turn towards his friend. God, he needed to get Grant and Julia out of here, before things got even worse-

-wait, where was Julia? That shadowy thing had been barreling in her direction, hadn't it? Trevor spun, and found the girl still held tightly in Valeriy's grip, tears streaming down her face and hands clasped over her mouth. Without thinking, the little Belmont moved to go to her, so he could pull her away and get her and Grant both to safety. He was the oldest of them-that was his job. They were relying on him.

A cold hand fell on his shoulder, holding him back. Trevor tried to rip himself away, but he was no match for the strength of a vampire, and so he found himself being pulled backwards, even as Dracul put himself between the intruders and Trevor, a dragon guarding his hatchling.

The vampire was rising to his feet, preparing to deal with the poor soldiers that had dared to try and take the children from his clutches, and Trevor had to fight to breathe. Julia was still in the way. She shrunk back as Dracul's gaze fell upon her and Valeriy, turning to try and hide herself in the commander's armored hold. And Valeriy-Valeriy was Trevor's teacher. The boy couldn't bare the thought of the man meeting his end here, just because he'd tried to help his student.

Trevor tried to reach out for his father, tried to grab that crimson coat and make him stop, but his legs wouldn't work. He couldn't seem to muster the strength to move-in all honesty, he was a bit surprised he could still stand. He reached out, called out-"Don't, please-!"-but it was futile. His feet were stuck to the floor, his voice was too soft and quiet. He might as well have not even been there.

All he could do was watch in horror.

-|{D}|-

Something soft bludgeoned Valeriy in the temple. His knees would've crumpled underneath him if not for Julia's arms looped about his waist. But even they couldn't stop the tears that were now flowing down his cheeks.

Valeriy had mourned Gabriel's death unlike any other in the Order. He knew it was a heroic sacrifice, carried out for the good of humankind, but he could not quench the sorrow. His grooming had demanded he kept his tears solely to himself. None of his peers would allow them.

He had taken the preteen orphan under his wing, offered shelter and food. Tutored him in the art of both swordsmanship and, later, cross combat. Taught him to live by the word of God, the Commandments. He had dried out his tears when his loyal hound passed away. He had sat on the porch as the young man courted his chosen lady. Valeriy was there, when Gabriel needed him. He had become the child's legal guardian.

And even though the boy was kneeling a few yards away from himself, the knight-commander could not help but reach out. Then his gaze fell upon the decapitated corpse, pooling in its own blood, and his hand was hurriedly yanked back. The corners of Valeriy's mouth curled down, and he sobbed.

"Gabriel."

His foster-son startled. Shoulders hunched, he rose to face him. And only now did Valeriy muster the willpower to look him over.

Pallid, vein-streaked skin, crimson eyes, claws where blunt fingernails should be... What had _happened_ to him? What could have possibly twisted his foster-child into this… abomination? A malevolent, skulking beast? A fiend whose existence revolved around its thirst? Valeriy gazed downwards, fear surging through his mind. He barely kept his teeth from chattering.

"What-" he finally lisped out. "What happened?"

"Valeriy, I-" Gabriel replied, and a pained grimace contorted his features. "They didn't tell you, did they. And now... you're here. Carrying out their whimsical will."

The knight-commander flinched. "What? They- the Elders... I took you for dead. We all did."

"I am dead, father, isn't that apparent?" Distress crept into the boy's eyes. "I was abandoned. I was deceived by my own Order, by my own faith."

"Aban- No, that, that can't be true. You are His Chosen One. He wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't what? Leave me to rot as my _reward_ for banishing Satan?"

Valeriy's brows climbed up. "Satan? As in _the-_"

"Yes, Valeriy, yes! The Devil himself! Lucifer _the Fallen! _Breached this domain using the body of another, and_ I_ was _selected _to stop him." Gabriel sneered. "And the God Mask! The fabled relic that can bring back the dead... Farce! All of it! God is a spoiled brat who revels in pitting us against insurmountable odds. For His own damn _amusement!_"

"Don't blaspheme, Gabriel!" The crusader's lips curled into a frown. "You know better than I that the Lord forges our fates. He has a plan for us all. He _can_ help, you just need to set aside your grievances and _believe._"

"No, father, I shall not." The vampire bared his sharp canines. "I have no interest in serving Him anymore. The Supreme Being is as imperfect as His beloved children." He drew near, the red glow in his eyes growing more intense. "If you think otherwise, Valeriy, then tell me, why would _God_ send you here? To the place where you would discover your wayward foster-son? Who had acquired the power of a demon and usurped the Devil's position here on Earth?"

"...usurped the Devil's position here on Earth?" Valeriy repeated, dumbstruck. And then dawned on him. "You were behind the attack. On the Radiant Heart, three months ago." He pursed his lips into a thin line. "You've murdered your brothers in cold blood. Without remorse. Just like Raphael now."

A wicked smirk twitched the lad's mouth. "They deserved it."

"Elaborate," the knight-commander all but demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Would you believe that the Elders with that bastard Volpe in the lead pressured Marie into giving up our son?" Gabriel gestured to Trevor. "They desired to use him against me!"

Valeriy's hand on Julia's shoulder jerked convulsively. "So you massacred over thirty people to abduct him _yourself_. Tore _seven_ more away from their homes and families. Warped your best friend – your son's godparent! – into an affront to God! Do you even realize how much pain and grief you've caused?! After all that, what _right _do you have to raise him?" He stabbed his finger in the vampire's chest. Gabriel might have been a head taller and a good deal more imposing than him, but the crusader was not fazed.

Even so, he did let out a gasp when his foster-son chose to seize him by the armor plating. A dry crackle reached out for his ears. "_Every_ right, Valeriy; I am his father!"

"No, you are a monster," Valeriy growled. "And the Exarch was right to take him away!"

Gabriel's face melted into a snarl, and a warning bell tinkled in Valeriy's mind. His body may be beaten-up, may be old, but his instincts stayed sharp. Instincts of a veteran vampire hunter. He had been pinned many times before and nearly always made it through. But with his right arm still wreathed around Julia, it fell to his left to fulfill the task.

There was a leather band fastened to his tasset, and tied to that strap was a flask. Ordinarily, Valeriy wouldn't use the water from that flask for combat purposes. But with his dominant hand rendered useless for the time being, he had to improvise. Another crunch echoed.

He pushed Julia away from himself, and when Gabriel's eyes flicked to his left, Valeriy yanked the bottle from his belt, and emptied its contents into the vampire's face. The effect was immediate.

The boy lurched back with a cry. Noxious fumes poured forth as holy water ate away at his eyes, nose, and cheeks. The knight-commander grasped at his combat cross and... had to take a double take. The burns shouldn't be regenerating, should they? And yet he witnessed as patches of fresh skin grow all over the lad's features, stitching the injury akin to needle and thread. What is this?! Holy water was famed for causing irreversible damage to the spawn of the Dark Lord!

"So, Valeriy, you had the mettle to strike your own adopted son," Gabriel spat, fangs gnashed in a grim smile. "You're just like them! Just like those brainwashed fools under the Brotherhood banner! Just as indoctrinated!"

Once again, a strange crackle went off to Valeriy's right. The crusader canted his head, and a spasm squeezed his throat. Thin, white cracks webbed his Light Magic medallion. The gems inlaid were cracked as well. Three out of five were outright missing! And with them gone, the aura cloaking him from the foul influence of this place began to dissipate.

Beads of sweat formed on the knight-commander's forehead. How could this be? These gemstones were nearly indestructible! He swallowed-

-and then felt as his back was slammed against the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. The vampire's cold fingers curled about his neck. The medallion on Valeriy's forearm uttered a high-pitched chirr, and burst in a flash of blue. Engraved shards slid out of their slot and jangled against the ground. The knight gagged, and his gauntlet-clad palms scratched at the brickwork. But Gabriel's hold was like iron.

"Take away his crutch, and the hero is nothing more than a cripple. Happened to my talismans, too. But regardless of what you may be thinking, father, I _can_ relate," the lad denoted, brow raised. He loosened his grip, and Valeriy crumpled to his knees, gasping. "But you must understand. I _am_ glad to see you again, but I cannot allow you to win. I've found my family. I won't let you destroy it-" Gabriel's eyes widened, and he let out an appraising hum. "But... there is a way."

With this he tore into his own wrist. Blood, dark and rotten, began to flow down his arm. Valeriy shrunk back, a wheeze in his throat. Briskly, like greased lightning, the crusader drew a single silver dagger. Yet instead of using it for offense, he placed it right under his chin. The corners Gabriel's mouth crumpled.

"Don't you dare," Valeriy whispered, futilely attempting to suppress the quiver in his voice. Without Light, it was becoming incredibly difficult to think. "Or I will slit my throat."

The vampire's grimace dissolved in an incredulous stare. "Enough, father. You know well enough that suicide is the one and only irredeemable," the way he had enunciated the word made Valeriy shudder, "sin. All who commit it are sentenced to Sheol, no exceptions. Believe me, this is for your own good. You'll at last see the truth that you've been blind to for so long."

"No. _No!_ I'd rather serve under Satan's boot, than be trapped in a soulless undead carcass!" Valeriy's teeth began to chatter. His hand twitched, and an unsteady breath fled his throat. The blade had scraped his skin.

That made the boy's frown reappear. "You've always been a man of righteousness, Valeriy. Pious and reverent till the very end. You have fought long and hard to earn a place by His side, and you wouldn't abase yourself. I know you. You wouldn't condemn yourself to the pits of Hell. Especially not with the ever-unforgiving Satan who'd not let you find peace. You're the father of one who had thwarted his plans. He'll torture you. He'll twist you into one of his lapdogs. And you won't have the will to defy him."

Now the knife was jumping up and down in the Valeriy's hand. "Please," he uttered in-between sobs. "Please, just- Or I'll... I'll… I don't want-"

Gabriel lowered himself beside the petrified knight-commander, and wrapped his hands around the dagger. A pull, and the weapon slipped out of his numb fingers. He tried to scramble away, to pull out his cross, to cry out for help, do _anything_\- but he couldn't summon the strength. Without Light his resoluteness, his bellicosity had fallen apart.

Valeriy had used Light for almost half-a-century. Decimated enemies. Cured diseases. Healed every wound he had received with it. Allowed for the magic to meld with his body and mind. The boy was right; Light had become a drug, and he couldn't function without it.

He could only sit and watch as his former student cupped his chin, then wrung his head to the side.

The crusader let out a stifled whimper. "W-would you truly do this to the o-one who has raised you, Gabriel?"

"You are kin, father." Was the answer. "You've taken care of me, and I do not forget other people's kindness. But you must learn to glance past the illusion that surrounds this world. I failed, and I got burned. I wish to spare you the suffering, so you wouldn't experience that what _I_ was forced to endure. It is the least I can do."

With this, his foster-son buried his teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. Valeriy let out a smothered shriek, hands flailing, trying to ward off the vampire, but alas. The warmth was draining away, caving in before a ghastly chill. Then something was pushed against his mouth, and this time, the knight did not attempt to hold back his tears.

-|{T}|-

Trevor watched it all unfold before his eyes, still rooted to the floor. No matter how he tried to move, his feet remained unresponsive, his limbs still as if the blood in his veins had frozen in terror. God, Valeriy _recognized_ Dracul-called him _Gabriel_. So the vampire had been telling the truth after all. It only made the entire situation worse for the boy-not only were he and his friends prisoners, not only was he being forced to watch these people die for the sake of rescuing them, his own father was the architect behind it all. The man he had so desperately wanted to know was the one who had wrought all of his suffering!

Julia had tumbled gracelessly, hands scuffing against the ruined floor, leaving blood in their wake. She tried to crawl away, only to cry out and freeze when the use of holy water brought on the smell of burning flesh, and again as there came a blinding flash from Valeriy's gauntlet. She had turned up to look at what was happening, only to gasp as the vampire buried his fangs into the elderly knight's neck-

-Trevor moved. He couldn't stop the vampire. He knew-whatever he did to resist would be futile, Dracul would stop him, and then _he'd_ be in trouble too. But he _could_ try to get Julia and Grant away. Surely he could muster enough strength to do that much!

Stumbling forward, he managed to grab Julia's arm, pulling her up enough that she could get her feet underneath her as he dragged her back to where Grant sat, curled up and inconsolable. The boy had long since stopped shrieking-his voice had gone hoarse and ragged from it all, and now he could muster little more than a raspy sob.

Grimacing, Trevor let go of Julia and began to shake Grant's shoulder, trying to get his friend to respond enough to stand and flee.

-|{D}|-

Pierre's tongue darted out to wet his lips.

The bejeweled amulet around his neck flashed, its magic deflecting the foulness that passed through this place. This revolting aura had already put their knight-commander out of action, and the Frenchman knew: to surrender was to die. Death or undeath, it did not matter. Gabriel had made it copiously clear. He no longer had any qualms against killing them all, if the beheaded corpse of that yapping axe-wielding idiot was any indication. No, he had to hold back and look for an opening.

And thus he stayed out of Valeriy and Gabriel's backchat. It didn't stop him from listening in on them, however. Their discussion was engrossing, but the vampire's resistance to holy water made the Maven furrow his brows. Could Valeriy's story be true then? Pierre glanced at the group of three youngsters huddled together in the corner. Could that ten-year-old be the key to their victory? It seemed ludicrous. The Savior's kid put _against _the Savior?

Oh, but he wasn't the deliverer anymore, was he? And not any common breed of vampire, either. That made more sense. His divine favor lived on in his son. An intriguing irony, that.

Nevertheless, the Maven had to subdue a shiver when Valeriy's Light Magic medallion burst into pieces. He thought back to his studies of the magic schools. These enchanted disks could be destroyed if exposed before a truly malevolent being. Light, being an image of temperance, hope, and bravery, fell first. Shadow, as the embodiment of the more selfish aspects of life, had a much longer lifespan, but even it was not immune. There was Light, there was Shadow, and there was pure, unbridled evil. _Merde_, what kind of demon did Gabriel overthrow to be capable of such a feat?

His Shadow amulet would not last. He had to act.

Pierre elbowed the woman curled up beside him. Ekatherine perked up, a question in her watery eyes. He put a finger to his lips, and the priestess gave a trembling nod. The Maven, as noiselessly as he could, reached for the pouch of his chest. The Dark Crystal twinkled in the dim glow of his amulet. He proffered it to Ekatherine, but the woman stared back, baffled. Pierre motioned in Gabriel's direction with the pointy end of the crystal. Still confusion. _Distract him_, he mouthed with his lips, _keep his attention off of his kid. _He gestured to himself, then to Trevor. Leveled the crystal's sharp end at the vampire. Recognition brightened Ekatherine's features, and she took the crystal into her hands. Pierre furled his hand into fist and gave a vehement shake of his head. _Do not crush it, _he said, hoping she'd read his lips. _At my command._

Valeriy let out a panic-struck blubber; Gabriel had pressed his bleeding wrist against the crusader's mouth. Regrettable, yet his floundering gave Pierre something he needed: an opportunity. Not taking his eyes off of the vampire, the Maven began to slink towards Trevor. The clank of Valeriy's armor masked the rustle of his tabard against stone. Ekatherine gazed after him, Dark Crystal clutched in her hands.

The Frenchman reached the shivering trio, and let his hands wind around the eldest boy's forearm. "Trevor. Trevor, _écoutez-moi._" Pierre cupped the boy's tear-stained face. "You are our last hope. You are the only who can put an end to this."

The Maven tipped his head toward the combat cross clutched in the boy's white-knuckled grip. "_S'il te plaît_, find the will in yourself to fight ba—" In the background, the crusader's choking gurgle echoed, and Pierre winced. "-fight back. That… that _thing_ just butchered your mentor. Condemned him to a cursed existence. Trevor, you _have_ the strength… you need only put it to good use."

He shuffled to the side. "Shove the spike through his damned heart."

-|{T}|-

The gentle reminder that he had a weapon in hand hit the boy about as hard as a sudden kick from a mule. How could he have forgotten? The cross was still in his grasp, the spike sharp and chain well oiled, waiting to be wielded against his foes. Dracul himself had told him—_you are the only one capable of such a feat._

He could end this. He wanted to, so desperately, even as he quaked and shuddered in fear, his small hand cold and quivering under the knight's gauntlet.

The scene before him was one out of a nightmare Trevor had never had, and it had him whimpering, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. This was nothing he had wanted, not even close, he would give anything for it to be one long, terrible dream, to wake up in his bed in the fortress in a cold sweat and go about his life as if nothing were wrong.

Such was not to be.

Trevor tried to draw his cross and move, really he did—but his legs were frozen, his body unresponsive. Why was that? He had to do _something!_ His teacher was dying, Grant and Julia were crying, and he could stop it if he could only find the strength-but whatever strength he possessed had left him.

"I c-can't move," the boy whispered, his voice as shaky as his hands, glancing over at the Frenchman with wide eyes. Why couldn't he move? He hated this, he just needed to stand, and then go from there, but it was like his body was stone. What strange spell had come over him?

-|{D}|-

"Can't move? _Pourquoi?_" Pierre ground his teeth together. Time was running out; at any moment the vampire could gander over his shoulder and see him tattling with the brat. The Maven spent a second mulling over his potential alternatives. If the kid couldn't muster the spirit to do it on his own, perhaps he could assist him? But how? Shadow could provide a morale boost, _oui_, yet Pierre had a hunch that Gabriel would most definitely sense a spell going off. He had been an experienced Shadow user too, after all.

The scuffle of feet came from the outside. Without a second thought, the Frenchman tackled the boy down to the ground. "Be quiet," he murmured into Trevor's ear. Having issued the order, he then flattened himself against the cavity in the wall. Those close to the entryway wouldn't detect him unless they'd wring their heads in his direction.

Heedful, he leaned out. Two stumbled in, and Pierre's eyes squinched up. Those mauve robes and horn-rimmed glasses, now with one lens cracked, could only belong to one person. They... they'd saved him from certain death? Why would a pair of _vampires_ save a doddery old man? An enemy?

The clergyman's hands were wrapped, and numerous tears ran down the sleeves on his garb, yet aside from that he appeared alright. Accompanying Drahoslav was the fledgling from before: that Cresces oaf. His arm, stained in drying blood, flopped limply from back and forth, and his fangs were bared in a feral snarl. Both stopped dead in their tracks at the sight, and the diviner gulped for air. Augustus had a much more subdued reaction, but even the Frenchman could see that he was ill at ease. And not because of the gory wound close to his shoulder.

Pierre pulled his face in a grimace. These two would without doubt warn Gabriel if he tried to push forward now. The Maven kneaded his hairless chin, trying to work out a new solution... One that wouldn't involve crushing the Dark Crystal and killing everyone.

Meanwhile, Valeriy's thrashings have all but stopped. He was still awake and alert, but the pale flicker in his eyes informed: he would not take part in Pierre's design. Instead, he looped his arms around himself and retched. The Maven felt an instant rush of respect towards the old knight-commander. Even after losing a significant amount of blood and then being force-fed the vampire's own, he still had the strength to defy. It was as if his whole nature was rebelling against the notion of becoming undead.

Gabriel grumbled a curse, and focused his attention on the dogged crusader. Out of sight, the mage flashed a leery glance at Drahoslav. Why was the clergyman hesitant? Why was he abstaining from action? Idly watching the incident unfold? An expression of profound guilt was written on the old man's face, but the Maven refused to let go of his suspicions.

Augustus trod hazardously close to his hiding place, forcing Pierre to jerk his head back. Luckily, the fledgling didn't notice him. Rather than aiding his sire, as the mage thought he would, the soldier approached Raphael's headless corpse, and knelt beside it. Panting, he hauled the body upright with one arm, and bit down the stump where the soldier's neck used to be. At once, the gash near his shoulder started to heal. Vomit climbed up the Maven's throat.

Harsh rasps rang out to his right. Valeriy's death throes had begun. He slumped feebly against the wall. Spasms shook his form, and some of the regurgitated blood was foaming in the corner of his mouth. He fell on his side. There, lying on the cold ground, the knight-commander must have noticed him. His hand trembled as he stretched it out. It was... as thought the knight was calling for help. Pierre's lips twitched into a poignant smile. Not taking his eyes off of the dying man, the mage crossed himself. With luck, the old hero's soul would find peace before the curse set in.

With their commander's passing, they didn't have much time left. He focused his gaze on Ekatherine, and gave the slightest nod of his head. The priestess was hyperventilating, yet it didn't take her long to rise and hold out the Dark Crystal above her head.

"Bastard! Fiend!" she shrieked, addressing Gabriel.

Their foes' response didn't keep them waiting. Augustus bounced back from the corpse, a frightened gasp in his throat. Drahoslav stumbled and fell over. And Gabriel- Pierre couldn't make out his expression, yet he could almost _feel_ his scowl. The master vampire pulled himself to his feet, and strode towards Ekatherine. Some sort of red plasma manifested on his hand, and he took a swing. With what? The priestess was good ten yards away!

The woman's grasp around the crystal tightened. "Try it, and I crush it! Even you will not able to slay the witch before she claims the lives of your helpers!"

Gabriel paused, arm still bent in a would-be uppercut. Slowly, oh so slowly, he straightened, and the sludge around his arm vanished. "What is it you want, prioress?" he asked, voice raw. All right, the the bait's been swallowed. Gabriel wouldn't risk putting his associates against a Shadow Witch. Now, with both his and Augustus' focus on the woman, it was the Maven's time to take action.

With his free arm, Pierre seized Trevor's wrist and hauled him upward, disregarding the gasp that escaped the boy's frame. He stalked forward, fingers coiled about the body of the brunet's combat cross. His amulet was like brimstone against his flesh, and each second wasted had only made it worse. His staff creaked in his hand as they approached the vampire's flank.

-|{T}|-

The word was foreign to him—despite his surname being of the language, Trevor knew nothing of French save for that—but the tone made it clear what the question was. Unfortunately he had no answer, not even the vaguest idea why he felt like he was chained to the ground. It was as if he no longer had control over his own form, and it only added to his terror.

Beneath it all, however, was a sickening feeling of familiarity, a feeling that left him in this wretched state, and he couldn't fathom why—he had never witnessed a slaughter like this, never seen people so brutally murdered. The only time he had come close was his abduction, and he had been too busy fleeing to bother watching as the dragon that had claimed him as a prize tore through the soldiers that sought to slay the beast.

Except, he _knew_ this feeling—he knew it _intimately_, for he had experienced it before. Curled onto cold stone, voice quelled as loud protests and then desperate pleading earned him no respite, shivering and whimpering and waiting for the pain to be _over—_

Past merged with present for but a moment, and Trevor remembered dirt under his hands, angry shouts, the feel of something carving into his side, _cursed brat damn you and your father both—_

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Valeriy reach out towards him, and thought left him. His mentor-his _grandfather _was dead, because he hadn't had the strength to do anything about it. Trevor could have saved him-he could have saved them all-but instead he had stood by and let it happen, and now something terrible had happened and it was _all his fault_-

-_it's your fault she's dead, you ungrateful whelp, and I'll have the debt you owe me-_

Suddenly he was being yanked to his feet by his arms. He thought he made a noise of surprise, but he couldn't be sure-he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Trevor struggled to get his feet under him, but only barely managed it-the knight that held him was all but dragging him along as the boy struggled not to be a dead weight.

Somehow, as they closed in on the Dragon, Trevor knew this would end in failure. Dracul would stop them, and the man that held him was going to die and he-he didn't know what would become of him. He didn't want to find out, either. He wanted to leave this cursed place and pretend it had never happened, as much as he knew it wasn't possible. But there was no stopping what was happening, not now.

All Trevor could do was hold his breath and watch as Pierre raised their joined hands to strike.

-|{D}|-

"_Dracule!"_

The word was unfamiliar to the Frenchman, but the voice that pronounced it... Pierre twisted his head to look behind him. Drahoslav glared through him, lower lip trembling and eyes as wide as saucers. The wretched two-timer-

Then something fixed the Maven's arm in place, squeezing it till his fingers went numb. He couldn't help but utter a yowl as the vicegrip wrung it behind his back. Pain all but set his shoulder joint aflame, forcing the mage to let go of the crucifix. There was a short, boyish yip as Trevor's legs folded beneath him.

"You _dare_ use my son against me?!" A sibilant shriek filled the mage's hearing. A scamper echoed throughout the area. "No, August, wait! Don't pursue her! That crystal will kill you!"

Finding himself disarmed of the weapon he had appropriated and with his back on his opponent, Pierre kicked. His ironbound heel hit Gabriel in the knee, and he could feel the vampire's grip grow slack. Slack enough for him to wriggle free. Claws carved grooves into his wrist. His left arm refused to obey him, and Pierre clenched together his teeth to relieve the pain. He flourished his staff and-

His Shadow amulet detonated with a dry pop. What remained caught purple fire. Pierre tried knocking the flames down, when a smug chortle made him freeze. The next moment, the vampire punched him into throat. Dazed and choking, Pierre stumbled back. His staff clacked against stone as it was dropped. Then Gabriel walloped him on the head, bringing him down on his fours. Then his foot connected with his ribs. Several times. Or at least Pierre thought so. He couldn't feel his side, and the taste of cooper on his tongue made him throw up.

He would've suffocated in his own gory vomit if not for Gabriel snatching him by the hair and hauling him upright. He seized the Frenchman by the collar. "Insect," he said, eyes enveloped in a solid red cataract, "I will teach you how to pit blood against blood." With this, the vampire headbutted him. Black dots swarmed his sight, and the Maven slipped into unconsciousness.

-|{T}|-

Trevor landed hard, crumpling onto the stone in a way that only added to the bruises he'd garnered for defying that great knight. The rubble that was scattered around the area they were in tore at his arms, and he could feel the blood trickling and staining his sleeves. Yet, despite this, despite the cry of pain from the man that had held him and the snarl of rage from the Dragon himself, Trevor remained unresponsive. Too much had happened too quickly, and the body of his teacher and grandfather lay inert before him. Trevor could only stare in silent anguish-

-_**"Trevor!"**_

Julia's wail snapped him out of his daze. Fear and desperation gave rise to a speed unlike the boy had ever managed before, save perhaps the night of the abduction. He was on his feet before he knew what was happening, darting across the room and skidding to his friends' sides. None of the adults seemed to notice-they were all paying attention to Augustus and that woman with the crystal. None of them had eyes for the three children fleeing from their waking nightmare.

There was no shaking this time, no coaxing. Trevor stopped just long enough to grab Grant's hand-Julia took the other-and then he was all but dragging the two along behind him. Before anyone could say anything to them, they were gone.

The sound of someone choking only made Trevor run faster.

The trio darted through the ruins left in the wake of the Dragon's fire-thankfully the path that had been ruined by the falling statue had not been completely destroyed, so they could still find their way across. They continued past the tower they had originally wanted to explore, into the stone courtyard where everything went wrong-

A familiar figured darted out, curls of red turning to liquid fire in the dying sunlight. Sypha saw them and turned to call behind her. "I've found them!"

The young sorceress raced down to the trio, nearly colliding with Trevor as he struggled to stop his momentum. Her small hands came up to steady him, even as she looked him over with blatant worry. "What's happened? I heard screaming, and there's been smoke-"

The combat cross fell from numb fingers, clattering to the floor with a painful finality.

Trevor slumped against Sypha, cringing against a sob. Before she could say anything more, another figure skidded to a halt next to them, and Adrian's voice rang out, edged with panic. "_Mater Dei!_ What in the name of-" He was cut off by the sound of Grant all but flinging himself at his older friend.

More footsteps. Violent, angry swearing that could only belong to Isaac echoed around the courtyard, punctuated by Julia crying out for her brother.

Hector's voice came from behind Sypha, his tone unnervingly calm despite the situation. Concern laced his words, however, and Trevor felt his hand begin to rub at his shoulder in a show of comfort and support. "They've been hurt. We need to get them inside."

"We'll have to carry them," came Adrian's reply, and from the corner of his eyes Trevor saw the blond squire scoop Grant up with his off hand. "They're in no state to manage themselves."

"Let me have Julia, Isaac, you cannot carry her and your spear both." Rosaly's voice was shaking, ever-so-slightly, but she sounded like she was trying to be calm for the sake of the youngest three.

Hector gently began to pull Trevor and Sypha apart, even as he spoke in support of his fiance. "Do as she says. One of us might as well be armed." There was the noise of steel sliding back into a leather sheath, and then Trevor felt arms carefully lift him from the ground. Normally, he would have resisted, but in this case, he simply curled against Hector, taking solace in the warmth of his friend's hold. "I've got you, Trevor. We'll be safe shortly."

As if they could ever be safe in this accursed place! But Trevor couldn't bring himself to argue with Hector, not after all that had just happened. He simply let his head rest against Hector's shoulder, turning to see what had become of his other companions.

Adrian had also been forced to sheath his blade-Trevor wouldn't believe for a second that the eldest hadn't been armed when he'd first gone looking for them-and was cradling Grant close. Grant's arms were wound around the the squire's neck, his face buried into Adrian's collarbone as he continued to cry.

Rosaly held Julia, who also had yet to stop weeping. Isaac hovered nearby, his expression torn between raw concern and pure, unbridled rage. He kept glaring hatefully at the path that led to where the confrontation had occurred, as if _daring_ something else to come after them.

Sypha stooped and plucked the combat cross from the floor before she trotted to keep up with Hector.

They reached their tower swiftly, and Isaac wasted no time in barring the door as well as he was able. Once that was done, he all but threw his spear aside and ran to tend to his sister, who moved to cling to him as soon as Rosaly had set her down. The healer moved to gather a basket of bandages and basic balms, given to her by Dracul to tend to whatever small training mishaps that could, potentially, occur, and began to work on treating the bruises all three of the young ones bore. Grant would not let go of Adrian, and so the blond squire was forced to do what little he could to try and sooth the small boy's terror. Hector had set Trevor down and moved to fetch food, and water, and blankets, and anything else he could fathom the three needing, expression always calm but an edge of frantic worry to his movements.

Sypha set the combat cross aside and sat herself beside Trevor, bringing up the sleeve of her dress to try and wipe away the blood and the tear-tracks that lingered on the boy's face.

Eventually, between the three, the tale of the incident came out, and those that had not been there exchanged glances of horror and of sorrow, words failing them.

After some silence, it was Rosaly that began to sing, a soft, gentle lullaby that she herself had found calming as a child. Hector, whom she had taught the words, soon joined in, his voice a low harmony to hers, and together they wove a song to soothe the hurts and fears of the others, even as the other three coaxed them into a fragile calm with words and touch.

It was a long time before any of them managed to sleep.


	10. Interlude: Aftermath

**Okay, first of all I want to apologize for this unheralded hiatus. Just so you know, no, we did not abandon this fic. Just real life got us both by surprise. I had university stuff and all kinds of unkind family matters to sort out, and Rei had finally gotten a full-time job. Which, of course, limited our free time. Plus, this interlude is the first chapter not to feature Trevor &amp; co., meaning I wrote the bulk of it. And I'm a sloooow writer. **

**That being said, I honestly don't know what's gonna happen to this fic after this chapter, update-wise. We'll keep you informed over our side blog. If anything, I'll start posting our next chapters without that much editing. **

**Oh, and before you proceed with reading this chapter let me issue a big, ****FAT**** trigger warning for y'all. I'm serious. This particular interlude features a hefty dose of violence. blood, supernatural torture, self-harm, f-bombs, and suicide mentions… such a wonderful bundle. It can get squicky, so be cautious!**

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 6th of September, 1058. Bernhard's Castle, City of the Damned. Torture Cellars._

A hollow rattle buzzed in his ears.

Pierre recollected himself despite the monstrous headache that had drilled its way into his skull. That, augh, _connard_. That wretched, slimy, arrogant assh-

The mage stirred – his hands were tied behind his back. He attempted to loosen the restraints. A grating rasp escaped his mouth. Even the smallest of motions made him feel as if his insides were about to spill from his belly. Pierre tried taking it slow. Something started to leak, and a wave of nausea engulfed him. Outstanding, he thought as he threw up the contents of his stomach. The dirty _fils de pute_ really did a number on his poor ribs. These injuries... How in blazes was he not dead? Pushing the sensation of sickness aside, Pierre focused on his surroundings.

Solid blackness bounced before his eyes, and for an instant the Frenchman panicked. Was he blind? Or could an enchantment cover everything in jet-black darkness? He jolted his head – it was the only muscle he could twist without pain coming back to haunt him. Nothing. No light pierced this shell. Pierre made a face and felt something crumple against his skin. Ah, a blindfold. A simple blindfold. He let out a sigh of relief and coerced his heart to cease racing. He had to keep his head leveled if he were to tackle this new obstacle.

Dry, blistery air surrounded him, making it nigh-impossible to breathe. Elsewhere metal shifted, and the faraway caws of something... _alien_ ricocheted off the walls. Where... where was he? Indoors, that much was certain. But what kind of furnace could produce such heat?

The rattling grew louder, and then something was pressed against his mouth. Water, icy and revitalizing, trickled down his throat. He gulped, dismissing the pain that the cold planted into his brain. A fraction of the discomfort abated. Up until now Pierre hadn't acknowledge just how parched he was. God, it felt as if he had swallowed a pound of sand!

Then, the inhuman squawks drew closer as well. A gust smote Pierre in the face. Was that the... flapping of _wings?_ Something touched down with a thump, and an orotund voice followed, "What is this human dog doing here, Euryale? This is our domain. Take it away or I'm going to tell Stheno!"

"Official business, Aello," someone called Euryale answered, tone brittle. "Keep moving."

"Official business? Ha, I don't see anything 'official' in coddling this whelp!"

"He belongs to the Dark Lord." An impatient hiss. "He issued an order, and I'm carrying it out."

"Oh? Well, if that's the case- You don't mind if I take a closer look at him..." The scrabble of feet, then something sharp jabbed the Frenchman above the collarbone. A finger. "Hmm... not bad." The nail traveled to his cheek, and Pierre went dead still. "Young, good-looking. And I do adore young, good-looking boys. His flesh will do just nicely. Might as well grant me a few years worth of youth."

"He's not to be eaten," Euryale countered throatily. "He is a trophy, reaped during yesterday's raid."

"There was a _raid?_ And me and my sisters weren't invited?"

"Aello," an infuriated, yet familiar grumble sounded. "Get your mitts off of him."

Aello yipped. "I was only pondering, my Prince!" she stammered, and another blast of sweltering heat engulfed the Frenchman. "Euryale says you staged an incursion yesterday. Is that true? Why weren't I, Celaeno, and Ocypete summoned? It's been well over a year since we hunted! Since we feasted on the carcasses of our foes!"

"The castle was breached." Gabriel's voice could solely be described as raw.

"Breached?! And you let this happen-"

Pierre could have sworn he witnessed a red, throbbing tendril lash, aimed at something hovering overhead. A blink, and it was gone, yet instants later, a tortured shriek just about tore open his eardrums. The Maven ground his teeth together in a vain attempt to still the ringing in his ears. The screech faded to a yap, thin and reedy.

Off to the side, Gabriel's voice uttered, "You will learn respect, harpy. Now leave. Before your sisterly trinity is reduced to a pair."

There came a whimper, though it was promptly overshadowed by frenzied flapping of wings. Someone pivoted, booted feet scraping against the earth. "Those witches have to be kept on a tight leash," Gabriel said. "I hope she didn't sidetrack you from your task, Euryale."

"Not at all, my Prince," Euryale returned, a strange crackle to her voice. "The Frenchman regained consciousness, and I gave him water. Just as you instructed. But he appears unwell."

A chortle. "Not unexpected. Remove the blindfold."

Fingers, tipped with long, ghostly claws, curled around the cloth and took it off. Empty, pupil-less eyes gazed into Pierre's own, and he shrank back. This was a demon... wearing the skin of a girl! Furrows webbed her face, scars laced her limbs, and hairlike appendages were whorled about her waist like a girdle. She was barefooted, toes likewise clawed, and wore a threadbare violet frock- Oh, no. Were those growths _moving?!_

A flare of orange diverted his attention. As though spellbound, Pierre watched gouts of magma shoot out from below, illuminating everything in a passing, warm glow. Monolithic pillars rose from the sea of lava, and giant chains adorned the walls. A sheet of ash covered the ground, though he himself was standing on a patch of stone. The Maven swallowed as his eyes found a skull, half-buried in the residue. It regarded him, teeth bared in a perpetual smile. The mage gandered up, and beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead.

Fetters, ropes, forceps, knives, nails, weights, saws. Cages with charred corpses inside. Iron cabinets lined with spikes from within. Racks with crude rollers on both sides. Tables spattered in dry, brownish blood. And himself shackled to the wall by the wrists and wearing nothing but a pair of tattered pants. Amongst all the devices and puddles of his own vomit. At the mercy of the girl-demon and the vampire.

The fiend perked up. "Permission to be dismissed, my Lord?"

"Permission granted."

Euryale nodded, dropped into a squat, and broke in a furious gallop. Along the sleek, vertical surface of a wall. The Maven bit his lip. What was that thing-

"I congratulate you, Pierre." Gabriel leaned against one of the devices with his hands folded across his chest. At least his eyes were normal this time. Well, as normal as one would come to expect from a vampire. "You're first to visit this special segment of the castle in a _long_ time. Only the worthiest of war prisoners find their way here." His lips twitched into a sympathetic smile. "How do you do? Are women still throwing themselves at your feet?"

The Frenchman's tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. "Mmmmgh."

"Ah, I see. The same hedonistic and self-conceited braggart. With a taste for Shadow Magic, no less." His former acquaintance scowled, and the Maven felt a shiver trickle down his spine. "You've quite the nerve to try and use my son against me, Pierre. Did the Elders of the Brotherhood by any chance make this knowledge public?"

"Ah. Hgn." He tugged at the chain hampering him. "Ser Valeriy told me-"

"That explains it then. Father always hobnobbed with those supercilious dodderers. But he'll learn. You on the other hand..." The vampire collected a serrated knife. "If I remember correctly you prize that face of yours, Pierre."

"Wait!" he exclaimed, voice shrill. "Wait, wait, wait! You needn't do this! I can be helpful! I can spread rumors... I can- I can sow the seed of doubt! Discourage them from deploying any more troops. Imagine what this will net you! The Brotherhood wouldn't dare to interfere! They'll leave you alone! And to attain this, you need only to, eh, let me go."

Gabriel went silent for a moment. Then a throaty chuckle fled his throat. He put aside the tool and inched toward the bound Frenchman. "It is too late for that," he said, an entertained smirk playing in the corners of his mouth. "I already have a courier who will deliver the news. That priestess. The one you've used as your cover. She escaped and is on her way to the Radiant Heart. She's going to do superbly, wouldn't you agree?"

The blistery air swept across the Frenchman's clammy back. He swallowed. That wench... she managed to get out? Jesus Christ. "Um!" He bit down to keep his teeth from chattering. "Ah, well, let's not lose hope! We... we can still reach a compromise."

"I do doubt that," his captor said, a healthy dose of skepticism weighing his voice down.

"No no no no. Listen. We're all rational folk. There's no reason to turn to violence. Violence is never the answer. I mean, look at me. I've been the central piece of many in-Brotherhood controversies over the years, but I'd never wished anyone harm!" Pierre babbled on. It was utter nonsense, but honestly he did not care. He only wanted to buy himself some time. "Look, I can be useful! Really! I can help! You'll see! _Si tu me tues maintenant, tu perds un allié potentiel_, Belmont!"

The vampire seized his face. Claws dug into the flesh of his cheeks, and Pierre gave a high-pitched squeal. "You shall not snarl that name in my presence, insect." A hiss reached out for the Maven's ears. "I am prepared to turn a deaf ear to Valeriy uttering it, but you... you will address me as Dracul, the Dragon. Your overlord and master. Do you understand the rules?"

He bleated.

"Good." The hand was yanked back.

"If you're going to kill me, make it quick. I deserve as much." Pierre drew a shuddering breath.

"You sought to use my own blood against me," Dracul spoke in a low key. "You deserve every ounce of pain I will exact upon your body. I will whittle your skin away like wood. Layer after layer. And I'm going to enjoy it." His eyes narrowed. "In fact, it would be sensible if I used _my_ blood against _you _now."

He tipped his head back and laughed. And then... his features _melted, _thawed like a snowbank in the sun. Pierre gaped, gaped as Dracul's tissue and bone alike dissolved into a puddle of malodorous blood. It squelched, and a dozen of wiry, bifurcated extremities shot up from its depths. The Maven's lips parted in a horrified scream, and it seems, the appendages were waiting for it. They zipped, lapped about his body, and forced themselves down his throat.

_Pain._

Pain overran the Frenchman's mind. As though something had ruptured, scattering fragments of white-hot shrapnel all around. It cut, it carved, it diced, it hacked. Silence engulfed him. He could feel his knees folding underneath him. In their cuffs, his hands balled into fists. Drool began to seep past his clenched jaws. Convulsions shook his body. Sweat streamed down his back. He fell forward, and his brow brushed against the powdery ground. A blur skipped in front of his eyes, and, unconsciously, he pulled at the chain...

...and the metal loops groaned. Pierre strained, the soles of his feet scraping against the rock. The iron uttered a screech: his restrains were giving out. With a manic grin spreading across his mouth, he jerked. _Scraaaa!_ The chain snapped like a dry bone, and the unprepared Maven toppled over. Trembling, he picked himself up. His body was racked with spasms, but he could handle it. Nothing, if compared to the excruciating pain that followed his beating.

Pierre hobbled to the adjacent table where various instruments lay. He moved to pick one up, but couldn't. His hands were in fetters. Scoffing to himself, – what bother! – he twisted. A single, displeased rasp, and he wormed free. The pieces of the brittle alloy dropped onto the ground. The man chafed wrists in an effort to push some warmth back into them, then returned to surveying the table. He gathered a scalpel and twiddled it 'tween his fingers. Another wry smile crooked his lips.

"So, Pierre, how would you like to continue with this?" he said... but this wasn't his voice. Much deeper, gruff, and unquestionably familiar. The Frenchman cried out in fear... or so he thought. The same unnerving smile remained plastered across his mouth. Not even a whimper escaped.

He didn't have any command over his own body.

"No comment?" Dracul clicked his – Pierre's! – tongue. "What a shame. In that case-" He raised the knife. "I take matters into my own hands." And stabbed it into the center of the Maven's palm.

A yawl tore open his throat as the weapon nailed his hand to the table. He burst out crying, not so dissimilar to a small child. It _hurt. _Pierre struggled, _trying,_ trying oh-so-hard to push back the force that controlled him- Only for the demon possessing him twist the knife free – leaving a gory hole in his left palm – and sweep it across his wrist. The cut was shallow, but it stung all the same.

The weapon soared and swiped, soared and swiped, carving gashes into the Frenchman's arm. Deep enough to make him shriek with pain, but shallow enough not to sever any vital blood vessels. Then came the abdomen's turn. The blade dug into his flesh, ripping it open like fabric. Then it sliced at his hamstring tendons.

He screamed. First profanities. Then threats. In the end he caved in. He groveled. He pleaded. He begged. And yet his torturer remained deaf to his laments. His right hand kept swapping tools. After the knife came the forks, came the thumbscrews, came the shears. All while a half of him that was under the vampire's control kept laughing, drinking in his suffering, whilst the other side kept threshing and wailing. The wounds burned as infection began to froth at the edges.

Vaguely, he felt himself throwing up, and the foreign presence inside his mind fading. He tried to crawl away, but then something walloped him on the back. Hundreds of barbs bit at his flesh, sending him spread-eagling across the ground. He curled into a ball, protecting his belly, and for that received another whack. A thorny, pulsating tendril – the same from before – lashed at his back, his sides, his arms and legs. He cried out as he felt his humerus splinter under the heavy clouts. He could see the bone protrude from his welted flesh.

Shadow, the magic that had served him for several years... That soaked his body. Its power was keeping him from passing out. From going into shock. Regardless of the environment. Normally an invaluable tool. Now it became his greatest foe, denying him any reprieve.

The world got reduced to a pain-streaked haze, interrupted only by occasional bouts of deranged laughter. And lashing. Finally, the wallops stopped, and he could feel a boot nudge him in the face. Then the foot shifted and positioned itself on his head. The Maven gasped for air as it pressed down. His bones crunched under the force.

"Are you still alive? And awake?" The words were tinged with unfeigned wonder. "I admire your strength, mage."

"_B-brûle en… en enfer_," he wheezed in response.

There, a scamper of feet reached for Pierre's ears. Floaty. Frightened even. The weight moved away. He tried to lift his head. His abused muscles quaked, and he fell face downwards once more.

"What are you _DOING?!_" a new voice bellowed. "_Stop!_"

A subdued hiss. "Unhand me, August!"

"No!"

"I _said._ Let. Me. _Go._"

The sound of a tussle. The thump of a fist colliding with someone's face. A grunt.

"You dare?!" Dracul's rather nasal snarl.

"You goddamned sadist! He done nothing to you!"

"Oh, but he's done plenty! He and his confreres! You were there! Or have you forgotten what they did to you?"

"No, I haven't! The guy might be an asshole, but it ain't right to beat him to a pulp just for that!"

"Pfah! Sympathizer!" The elder vampire spat on the ground. "If you think so highly of this cretin, then save him! Make him your thrall before he dies."

Incensed snuffling. "No, I won't do that."

"Why?"

"_Why?!_" Augustus's voice grew into a thunderous roar._ " 'Cause I know how much it hurts, you fucking son of a bitch!_" With this, the fledgling stampeded away.

"Fine!" Dracul shouted in answer. "Be that way! Remain a spineless weakling!" His teeth gnashed in his mouth. "I will deal with that maggot later."

Feet stomped, and Pierre felt cold fingers curl about his neck. He gagged as he was picked up. Through the daze, he watched as the vampire's face twisted into a nigh-feral snarl. "And you," he growled, "you will serve me. You shall be the symbol of what awaits those who cross me." A searing orange fire erupted around his left hand. A fiendish grin curled Dracul's lips... Then he slammed his blazing palm against the Frenchman's face.

* * *

_Later that night. Bernhard's Castle, Bernhard's Wing. Sitting Room._

Drahoslav rubbed his clawmark-laced hands against each other. A moment, and he recoiled with a curt hiss. His mangled wrists – a reminder of yesterday's thwarted endeavor – had made this uncomplicated task a chore. Gah, it would take _weeks_ before he would regain the ability to write or hold finer objects. Thankfully, the ointment Dracul had supplied him with had erased the redness. A sorcerer he could be, but a healer? Slava could not complain. Indeed, he'd take this mild bother over an excruciating death any day. His hands would heal. Coming back from death, however, required some finagling.

He leaned back in his seat. Even the fire that sat in the heart of a fireplace before him could do little. An aura of desolation had made this wing its home, and even the most hardened of beasts could not ignore its influence. It reflected the sullen mood of the castle's lord impeccably. There must be some sort of link between the two. It all seemed a great deal too contrived otherwise. The diviner stole a quick glance over his shoulder.

Dracul half-lay in the neighboring armchair, tips of his fingers steepled and legs crossed. By the looks of it, he had all but forgotten he had company. Best not to startle him. When someone as ill-famed as Gabriel was in a foul mood, it was advised to keep one's distance. It would be realistic to assume the same applied to his vampire self. The old librarian returned to poring over his injuries. He couldn't blame the man. Many unhappy thoughts burdened his mind, too. Thoughts he couldn't shrug off.

To say that Slava did not expect for the events to unfold in the way they had would be not to say anything. Goosebumps pricked his skin. It was... Pierre's asinine actions would have killed them all! He had to warn the vampires... hadn't he? Drahoslav grimaced. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Not here, not now. What's done is done and he would have to face his demons sooner or later.

By God. Even his rescue was a double-edged blade! The gargoyle wouldn't have fallen if Gabriel hadn't been hurling flames at them. Such irony.

Dracul's form shifted, prompting the diviner to cease his squirming and look up. "You know," he said, a trace of wistfulness in his voice. "I haven't truly thanked you, wizard. If not for your intervention, I... I don't know what would have happened."

"Nothing nice, I'd wager," the elderly librarian replied.

"To use a ten-year-old in his own petty schemes..." The vampire rapped his clawed fingers on the armrest of his chair. "The swine got what he deserved." He stared the diviner in the eye. "You needn't worry, Slava. If he is going to rise ahead of time, I'll make certain he does not vex you."

The implication behind those words did not elude Drahoslav. He squirmed. "What about Trevor?"

A frown creased the former knight's brow. "Let him rest," he spoke. "He's been through much."

"_Bineînţeles. _Of course. Best not to upset the chap any further."

Eerie silence ruled over the two men, interrupted only by the crackle of burning wood. Suddenly, one of the embers burst into a swarm of sparks, jolting them both. Dracul propped his chin in the palm of his hand.

"What are you going to do now?" he inquired. "The Radiant Heart? If so, I won't hold you back."

"I've given this some thought," the diviner said. "And… There's nothing left for me at the Radiant Heart, Dracul. Not after what happened." Slava pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. Ngh, memo to self: replace that cracked lens soon. "It's... I don't think the Elders are going to greet me with open arms. This was a suicide mission from the beginning. If I re-emerge unscathed, they would assume I am in league with you. And... I know the real identity of their foe. This knowledge won't sit well with Volpe."

The vampire lord hummed. "True. They'd make you vow not to disclose it. Or worse." His frown deepened. "That priestess who fled... She knows who I am just like you."

Drahoslav could but shrug at that. By this point, Ekatherine must have traversed a fair distance. They had left their mounts on the outskirts of Wygol after all. It would be unfeasible trying to catch her now. "Are you concerned with her safety?" he asked, curious.

"The Elders can go to great lengths to protect a secret," Dracul answered.

The elderly wizard chewed on the tip of his tongue. "Taking all that into account, is it alright if I stay? I was Julia's tutor back in the Order. Now that I'm here, we could resume our classes."

"By all means, Slava." A trace of a grin quirked the vampire's mouth. "You saved my life. It's the least I can do."

"Thank you." He returned the smile.

Dracul nodded. "All the same, now you have to satisfy my curiosity, Slava. You have no combat expertise. You've never been to uninhabited wilderness before. Why were you drafted?"

"I wasn't drafted. I volunteered."

Stunned quiet. "Why on Earth would you _volunteer?_"

"Largely to see what the bustle was all about. To see that dragon everyone keeps prattling about. To be frank, by now, I will not be surprised if it ends being a fraud or a magic trick." He hid his chortle behind a cough.

"A magic trick, you say? And the burned out forest?" A hint of smugness showed through the vampire's voice.

"Says someone who has the power to conjure fireballs." A sly grin crept over Slava's face. "But don't think I did not acknowledge the meaning behind your new identity. It's a very telling one, after all."

There, Dracul dissolved into gleeful laughter. "It is, isn't it?" he snorted after a pause. "I admit, it is flattering to have someone show appreciation for it."

"You asked me not to address you by your birth name. I respect the wants of others."

That coaxed another smile onto the Dragon's features. He slipped his hand behind the embroidered edge of his coat. "Slava, you are the resident, ah, expert on extinct mythological species. What would you make of this?" A curious trinket lay in the center of the former knight's palm. A band of bronze with an emblematic dragon design curled along its circumference.

The librarian collected the object. "Hmmmm." His gray brows furrowed. "This dragon... It is a symbol of one of the Old Gods, that is beyond doubt. Yet which one? Python or Tiamat? Maybe Apothis? Elongated skull. Long, brawny limbs. Sleek body. _Too_ sleek, truth be told. It almost looks humanoid in nature. But none of these primordial gods had walked on two legs. This is odd." He tore his eyes away from the emblem. "Where... _Why_ do you have it? This token is thousands of years old!"

"I was hoping you would answer that question for me." The corner of the vampire's mouth curled. "It is something relevant to my... interests, and I'd love to get some information on the subject."

Drahoslav ran his fingers through his beard. "I see. I would too." He fixed his gaze on the talisman. "This is positively fascinating. Will you show me how it functions?"

"Gladly." Was the prompt response.

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 8th of September, 1058. __Brotherhood of Light Compound "The Radiant Heart of St. Michael"_

Looking down from the casement window of his study, Exarch Clemente Volpe could not help but let his thoughts wander. Day-to-day life was the same as it ever was, despite the recent trials and tribulations. Such was the way of humanity... they carried on, despite even the most unbearable hardships. The good Lord had made them a hearty lot.

Still, while we watched others toil in bliss, Volpe could not help the knot in his stomach. Valeriy and his party had left days ago, and there was still no sign of their fate. He was not so foolish as to think they were merely delayed. No, he had known it was a suicide mission from the moment he had asked the knight-commander to embark upon it. But, in truth, liberating the children had not been the mission's true goal. Getting Valeriy in contact with Gabriel was.

It was a weight on his shoulders, knowing how many innocent souls he'd doomed to death or worse. He was trading away the souls of Valeriy and his party, and even those children that had been abducted. There was no way he could arrange for their rescue without bringing a dragon down on entire cities. And so for the good of all humankind, sacrifices had to be made.

He could only pray that this sacrifice wasn't in vain.

Valeriy was a stalwart soul, morally upright-the man had almost been a Paladin, which wasn't a rank easily obtained. And, before anything else, he was important to Gabriel. Important enough that perhaps he could sway the vampire. Could hold back his rage. Could guide him back to the light. Or at least, keep him from leveling as many settlements as he otherwise would.

A high-risk move. There was no guarantee that enough of Gabriel survived in that monstrosity for Valeriy to have any influence. Yes, the vampire had clearly desired to steal Trevor, but that could just as easily been the act of a dragon reclaiming what it thought was its property as a father attempting to win back his son. If Gabriel was lost, if there was nothing left of God's Champion... then there would be nothing Valeriy could do. Nothing any of them could do.

There was also the possibility that Valeriy would buckle. He'd had no warning of what he would find in those accursed halls, no suspicions of who the monster that ruled there was. If his despair broke his will, or if-God forbid!-he actually chose to _join_ his foster-son in darkness and damnation, then it was only a matter of time before hell on earth came to these halls.

But Volpe had faith. Valeriy was a stalwart soul. There had been nothing but sincerity in the man's oath to stay strong and righteous, and the man had meant every word he'd said when he spoke of saving the lost. Volpe chose to have faith in the old knight-commander, in God, and even Gabriel Belmont.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden explosion of activity from below. People were flocking to the gates, gazing out as if expecting something to enter. That was hardly unusual, as folk tended to welcome runners and military expeditions back in such a manner all the time, but-the only group that had been sent out from _this_ fortress was Valeriy's.

The jerky, distressed motions of the crowd caused dread to settle in his heart. His mouth ran dry, and his hands shook every so slightly. When one of his guards burst through the door, gilded helmet in one hand and the beginnings of fear written on his features, he knew. This was the news he had been waiting for.

He hastened to the gates. Knight and commoner alike parted before his guard's bellowing voice-"_Make way for the Exarch!"_-but he paid them little heed. His focus was entirely on who had returned from such a harrowing place.

The first thing he noticed was a collapsed horse. The poor beast looked as if it had been run ragged. Lathery foam bubbled in the corners of its mouth, and husky wheezes accompanied its every breath. Had its rider even stopped to let it drink? It did not appear so. That it still clung to life was a miracle all its own. Beside the mount was a pair of figures-one a knight of little note, the other belonged to the cleric that had gone with Valeriy. Ekatherine. She was pale and shaking, and barely seemed able to keep her feet without the soldier's strong arm around her form.

Mutterings spread through the crowd, and Volpe could practically _feel_ their panic beginning to rise. Frowning to himself, he quietly ordered the knight to escort Ekatherine to the healers, that she might be seen to. With that done, he turned and addressed the crowd, calling for them to calm themselves and hold fast to faith in these dark times.

It was moments like these that he was truly thankful that the Lord had gifted him with a silver tongue. Though he did not manage to quell the unease in its entirety, there would be no panicked riots this day, and that was enough for now.

Once the throng had dispersed, returning to their day-to-day activities, he found his own way to the infirmary, intent on learning of the fate that had befallen Valeriy and his team.

The cleric he spoke to informed him that while Ekatherine suffered from nothing more than shallow cuts and the occasional bruise, her demeanor was that of someone that had just escaped from a nightmare. Her mind would take some time to heal, if it ever did at all. With a solemn nod, Volpe thanked the cleric for her work, and moved to sit beside the sole survivor.

She did not acknowledge him at first. He was not bothered by it. He merely wrapped her hands with his own, gently coaxing her to weave her tale. It took some time, but Volpe could be patient. Eventually, she turned to face him, eyes dry and haunted, and began to speak.

The tale, in of itself, was what he had expected. The news that the children were yet human was a small reprieve, though he worried for their safety... and their sanity. That snake pit was no place for children. The revelation of the fate of Augustus Creces was unexpected, but not entirely startling. He and Gabriel had ever been close-it was why Volpe had allowed the man custody of young Trevor. Perhaps this was a sign that some part of Gabriel had endured... That Valeriy would be able to reach the man the vampire had once been.

Volpe prayed it was so. He did not want to think yet another innocent soul had been damned without reason.

When Ekatherine finished, he thanked her, and ordered the clerics to give her the best care they could. She deserved as much, after what she had endured.

He left shortly thereafter, commanding one of his guards to summon the Brotherhood inquisitors to the meeting hall. They had much to discuss, many preparations to see to, and little time with which to work. Without Trevor, attempting to slay Gabriel was a futile endeavor-they would have more success ordering the sun not to rise. Attempting another extraction so soon after the last would be folly. In truth, Volpe doubted any sort of extraction would work at all. Surely Gabriel would guard his son as jealously as the dragon he named himself.

The arch-priest's hand coiled around the bejeweled amulet around his neck. The Philosopher's Stone was lukewarm to touch, yet-thankfully!-its heat was enough to unsnarl the icy grip that grasped at his heart. He would shrug the shackles of age and live on. So he'd have the possibility to right his mistakes.

No, all that they could do now was wait, and prepare for the storm that was to come. It was only a matter of time before the Prince of Darkness and his legions came calling.

Volpe only hoped they would be able to endure.

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 10th of September, 1058. Bernhard's Castle, City of the Damned. Holding Cells._

Tearing. A fire foamed inside his lungs. He drew an unsteady breath.

The sulfurous fumes stung his nostrils, and the knight-commander heaved a cough. The rancid odor was enough to startle him awake. Ugh, disgusting.

Shaking from head to toe, Valeriy scrambled to his feet. His overworked joints crunched beneath the weight of his flesh, and a croak parted the crusader's lips. Where was he? For how long has he been unconscious? A few days, that's for sure. In addition, someone had relieved him of his combat cross as well as his armor; the sole article of clothing on his body was the jerkin he had worn beneath said platemail. What happened-

Oh. The corners of Valeriy's mouth crimped. Aye, now he remembered. The unsuccessful rescue operation. The return of his prodigal foster-son. The sickening stench of blood. He saw it all in his mind's eye. Felt it, too. Felt the taste on his tongue. His heart skipped a beat. Wait, could he be-

Valeriy swept his fingers across his teeth. No fangs. He pushed his hand against his neck. Warm skin. Steady pulse. Even the spasms running through his body felt... well, human. The aged knight just about sobbed with relief. He must have passed out from the shock then. That or something – someone! – must have stepped in. Saved him from the eternal damnation.

"Thank you, my God," he gasped, voice barely a whisper.

A faint gritting sound diverted Valeriy's attention away before he could finish his prayer. Another ten seconds, and a column of light flooded his confined cavern. A hatch. A hatch in the wall had swung open. The crusader steadied himself.

...was that the rattle of a serpent? The knight-commander couldn't make out all the details, but he thought he saw the silhouette of a young woman. Then something was dumped in front of him like a sackful of flour.

A girl.

A child, dressed in rags, with scratches and bruises coloring her knees and elbows. She tried to exclaim, but a wallop across her back subdued her snivels. Valeriy shifted to assist the unfortunate, yet when he approached the hissing in his ears grew deafening. The hatch slammed shut, plunging the jail cell into darkness once more.

But, somehow, it did not handicap him.

Without faltering, the knight-commander hotfooted toward the lass and whorled his hands around her forearm. To help her get up. He might not have his Light Magic medallion with him, but he knew a thing or two about first aid. An odor of grease and sweat lingered about her... and metal? An ache scraped against the back of his throat. He faltered.

If he were indeed saved, he wouldn't have awakened, would he? He would have found his eternal rest. Oh no-

Then something stabbed him in the gut. Not physically, but more... A sharp pain. As though a mantle of needles just dug into his flesh and punctured his insides. A feeling of nausea assailed his senses, and Valeriy doubled over with a choke. He ground his teeth together, yet a wheeze escaped his chest all the same. It hurt. Whatever this was, it _hurt_.

And he knew _precisely_ what was causing this.

"H-help," he heaved, eying the panic-struck girl in front of him. But she shrank back.

Despairing, Valeriy reached out... only to promptly yank his hand back. His fingertips had gone black as soot, heavy with rot. His blunt nails had lengthened, and blotches of chalky-white mottled his arms. Moaning, the crusader tugged at his hair. No. No! The girl... she was an offering. A main course!

But the pain- Christ! Rivulets of sweat flowed down his forehead. It was getting _worse_. Tears trickled from behind his eyelids. A lump bobbed in his throat. Another second, and his canines pushed out. Valeriy couldn't hold back a scream. He battled for each breath, but panic was suffocating him like a hangman's noose. Through what seemed to be an alcoholic haze, he brought the arm to his mouth and bit down. He'd rather cripple himself than pose a threat to an innocent.

His fangs tore the skin with absurd ease, and blood – thick, foul-smelling blood – oozed down his throat. The taste was revolting. It made bile rise in his mouth. The knight-commander hacked, yet continued to suck on the open wound. He _had _to. And with each gulp, some other fraction of the pain abated.

...until a shriek startled him.

Drowsily, he pulled away. A flushed face bounced before him. The sound of heartbeat thrashed in the crusader's ears, the skin beneath his fingers burned. The wrist in his hands... In his _hands?_ Smeared with crimson, slender and feminine. Valeriy's grip slackened. No... _No! _The girl's eyes were squeezed shut, yet he could see the wet lines running down her cheeks. By now, she had ceased her squirming. Did she struggle? He couldn't know. By the time he reined in his shock, she had breathed her last.

He burst into tears.

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 17th of September, 1058__. Bernhard's Castle, Overlook Towers._

This was without a doubt a scenic lookout, Augustus noted, eyes fleeting from one spire to the next. The splendor, the enormousness. It was beautiful. In a macabre, stab-you-until-you're-dead sort of way, of course. And this was just a bare fraction of what he could observe from this porch. Carmilla's... uh, _Dracul's,_ castle occupied many hectares of land, its twisting tunnels running the whole way into the underground. The underground where- The soldier scratched the nape of his neck. Rough claws grooved his skin, but he didn't flinch. What the _hell_ happened to the world?

After their "disagreement" in the undercroft, August started to avoid his friend. Dracul responded in similar fashion, little surprise there. Rumor had it he was up to his ears in, quote unquote, official business. And that he was solving the bulk of his problems with the extensive use of his whip.

And Pierre... The soldier's stomach churned. A heap of torn flesh and slivered bones. The poor bugger was still awake when Augustus got there, wasn't he. Aye, the Frenchman might had bitten off more than he could chew, but was that enough to justify torture? No, it wasn't.

Augustus's hands soared up to cup his face. The half-healed wound on his chest prickled. The shingled roof beneath his boots scraped. The moth-eaten tapestries fluttered in the wind. Someplace below wings flapped... closer, closer, until the noise came to a climax, and a shadowy figure barreled past him. A sour grimace crooked the soldier's face – if this was Dr- Oh, wait. It was a female, redhead, wielding a lance. Patterns covered her entire upper torso, and a pair of feathery wings jutted out her back. Bandages were wrapped around the harpy's belly, and the tangy scent of blood wafted from under them. The warrior's nostrils twitched.

"Aello," August said, not startled in the slightest. "If Drac sent you, tell him I don' wanna talk, alright? I ain't in the mood."

"No." The cherry-red curls bounced as the harpy shook her head. "I'm here of my own free will."

The fledgling livened up. "Ah, then all's well. What's up with you? Got into another fight with the Gorgons?"

"Uh-uh," she grumbled, "your sire did not take kindly to doubting his command. Pfah! A pack of knights barged in onto our territory almost two weeks ago! While he dozed off in his fancy chambers, no less! What's that buffoon's part if he lets some random misfits intrude into our lives without so much as breaking a sweat? I try to make a point, and he thrashes me with his whip! Is that justice?!"

Well, there's that.

Augustus chuckled – he found the tattooed woman's complaints humorous. "Are you sure it's wise to tell _me_ this, Aello? Of all people? I could as well rat you out."

The harpy made a flippant gesture. "Please do. Everyone in the castle knows that you're not on speaking terms with your sire as of late." Her birdlike talons chinked as she landed on the eaves.

"Aye, that's true." The soldier's mouth twitched. "So if you're not running errands for him... what _are_ you doing here?"

"I listened in on your argument. You know, down in the cellars," she confessed, gaze solemn. "And I wanted to say that I support your point of view on torture. Hunting down the swine that opposes us is one thing, but nobody should twist the life of another for simple pleasure."

"Thanks." His smile grew. "This means a lot to me, Aello."

"Anytime." The redhead plumped down beside him. A hushed gasp fled her throat as she adjusted her bandages. "But- Augustus, listen. You can't just make scenes like that. They aren't depicting you in a good light. You've already earned quite a reputation amongst other inhabitants. 'Feeble', 'pitiful', 'unworthy wretch'... the list goes on. Your bloodline's the one thing that is keeping them from disposing of you. Otherwise they'd have no qualms about rigging it so it'd look like an accident. Or a successful suicide attempt. There is simply so much a pile of ash can say."

"I'm trying, Aello," August replied. "But every time I feel like I'm starting adapt, this existence takes me by surprise. I appear like some lowlife crossbreed? I grew used to that. The blood I down tastes like bile? Figured out how not to concentrate on it. But to learn that my best pal had taken up _torture_ as a hobby?" The soldier's hands balled into fists. "I was... angry. Even more so when he had issued that... that order."

The harpy hummed, a gentle songlike sound. "Well, I admit, Augustus. You've got courage. But your motive confuses me. Taking and giving blood is how your kind multiplies. Why did you defy?"

"I dunno," he spoke up after a brief pause. "Maybe because I, myself, woke up to blanket of pain. Felt every single damn ounce of it. Having two brand-new, goo-covered appendages tear through your skin and dealing with the physical shock were the nastiest parts. I wouldn't want for others to endure this."

"You're not him." Aello cocked her head to the side. "I bet you can do it better than him."

"What makes you say that?" The fledgling sneered. "Why do you care anyway?" A second passed. His eyebrows drooped, and a hoarse bleat escaped him, "S-sorry."

"It's nothing. But I do want to help you. If you don't break the ice, it's going to be even more difficult for you in the long run. I mean, if you pulled off an embrace then not only you'd have a devoted lackey, but you'd also be able to rub your victory into your sire's face."

Augustus' mouth crimped. "And what if I don't want a lackey?"

"Ah, let me paraphrase that. Not a servant, but an... an associate. A companion."

"Why are you so sure I'm competent enough to get something like that done? I wasn't cut out to be a vampire. A witless lesser lycan on the other hand... Bark, growl, obey your superiors. Seems like a dream compared to this."

"The potential that prefers to hide beneath your skin says otherwise."

He squinched his face up. "Are you _sure _Drac didn't send you?"

A brief yet exasperated sigh followed. "Believe what you will," the harpy said as she rose to her feet. "But you_ need_ allies, Augustus. You won't make it far all on your own. Many envy you. You've been given a tool that can bind others! Use it!" With this, she took off and disappeared behind one of the towers with a strident caw. The crows, startled awake by the sound, soon flooded the night.

The fledgling gazed skywards. This whole business was making his poor head ache. Sighing, he lay down and folded his hands beneath his head. Could vampires even have full-on migraines? He pinched the bridge of his nose. Evidently so. Goddammit, the things those nosy street hawkers and bookkeepers were keeping under their hats! This was nothing like that pamphlet on the undead species knight-commander Stannis had pressured him to read.

_A tool that can bind others._ With the harpy's suggestion echoing in his ears, the soldier rose to his feet. To have a friend- Someone he could have faith in. Someone he could talk to. Someone without any perverted... quirks. He eyeballed his wrist. A tempting offer, that was.

August's shoulders pushed back.

* * *

The girl gazed back at him with unseeing eyes. The next moment her grip slackened, and she collapsed in a dead faint. A thin rivulet of blood seeped past her clenched jaws. Her throat – no, too generous; from his standpoint it was a mutilated mess – glistened in the moonlight. It had taken him three solid attempts to find the jugular. Augustus breathed out. He chose to do this. No turning back now. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and carried on with his scrutiny.

She was a redhead, young and fair-skinned, with freckles sprinkled across her nose. A pristine yet worn hooded cloak was draped around her shoulders. Who was she? Who would traverse a forest in the dead of night? She had a pungent odor about her. A basket lay close to her, filled with vials and bundles of dried herbs. A healer then. Or a traveling potion-maker. Or perhaps a small-time vendor, forced to move from pillar to post year after year to earn a living. She wasn't breathing.

The hoot of an owl made the fledgling flinch, and he swiveled in place, wide-eyed and wary. Nothing. He was alone. Well, excluding the wildlife, that is. August waited it out; if Dracul indeed followed him here, he would most likely choose this moment to reveal himself. The dude liked his flashy entrances, after all.

But no one sprang to spook him, and realization made the vampire relax. He crouched down beside his victim and unstrapped one of his armguards. One swipe across his arm, and blood – dark, tangy, gluey – began to bead the grass. Bracing himself, he brought his wrist to the girl's lips.

And got no response.

With a curse seething in his chest, he pressed his fingers against the unmarred region of her neck. No pulse. Oh _no._ A copious amount of red pooled underneath her head, soaking hair and the hood of her garment. Of course. The blood loss. Grimacing, Augustus let some of his dribble into her mouth, all the same.

Seconds later, he squeaked with astonishment and fear. It hurt. Giving blood _hurt _him. A worm of uncertainty threshed about in his brain, and August bit his lip. This pain echoed with foul familiarity. Maybe this- No. The fledgling furrowed his brow. He _had_ to do this. The girl wouldn't rise on that pathetic quantity he's already given. Gnashing his fangs in a snarl, the soldier kept going.

And halted only when his own awareness began to slip. Spots smudged his vision, and Augustus stumbled back. Semi-dry blood caked his wrist, and the skin around the gash had sloughed off, leaving a ugly, rough scab. Lightheaded and out of breath, he slumped against the nearest tree. He gazed at the girl's corpse from under half-lidded eyes; still, with dark purple startling to mottle her skin. No amount of his corrupt blood could reanimate something that has already died. Even August, with his admittedly shallow understanding of how vampirism worked, knew that. He let out a sob and buried his face into his hands.

His respite did not last very long.

The scrape of paws fast approaching caught his attention, and the ringing in his ears could not muffle it. The fledgling bounced to his feet.

A gray-haired lycan galloped in, more or less colliding with the surprised vampire. Blackblood's hide glittered with sweat, and his sides were heaving. Upon sighting — bumping into? — the fledgling, the werewolf came to a dead stop and hauled himself upright. His muzzle was warped in a wry grimace.

"You— blasted half-wit," Blackblood growled after several labored huffs, "you- you made me- chase after you. _Why?!_" He stabbed his finger at the soldier. "Why did you run away?"

"Run awa-" Augustus sat up. He grabbed his bracer and fastened it round his lacerated wrist. Hopefully the dog didn't see that. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The whole of castle turned to bedlam because of your stunt, idiot," the lycanthrope spat. "When that harpy declared this has been her idea, our Liege-Lord commanded all of us – and I mean _all_ of us! – to hound you down! He himself is up the wall! And-!" The beast's eyes fixated on the girl's corpse within August's spitting distance. "Oh, what's this? A road snack?"

"Shut up, mutt," he returned with a grumble.

"Right. As if I care, really." Blackblood rolled his eyes. "Now, let's go. I am to escort you back. No funny business, you got that, fledgling?"

Augustus scrunched up his nose. "Fine, gimme a minute." He gave the unfortunate girl a cursory glance. "I'd like to bring her with me."

The lycan's lips curled into a disbelieving leer. "You'll be the one hauling her."

* * *

The journey took less than an hour, Augustus observed as the castle sinister towers floated into view. That was... weird. He had lain in wait for more than that, hadn't he? Expecting someone like this human girl to pass by to quench his thirst. Death had robbed her of her beauty: lines webbed the corners of her eyes and blue colored most of her skin. The muscles beneath his fingers were stiff and barely warm. The soldier could not explain his reasoning behind his desire to take her with him. He supposed, he didn't want for scavengers to get to her body. Mortals were meant to be viewed as food, but August couldn't stomach the idea of leaving her behind. Not like that.

Figures swarmed the expanse around the castle's drawbridge. The fledgling squinted. Huh, so the lycanthrope was _not _overstating; Dracul did rally pretty much every menacing minion he had. Off to his side, Blackblood let out a full-throated and resonant howl. The horde ceased its skylarking and glared in their direction. Blackblood howled again. This time a few dozen of rasping cries parroted his. And just as those died down, a shriek tore through the legion and an enormous, red-streaked shadow banked from behind the belfry.

Augustus sighed. Time for a dressing down.

The Dragon touched down thirty-or-so yards away from him and Blackblood, feathery scales on the scruff of his neck bristled. The shadows around the beast bent and stirred, and soon the vampire lord was stumbling toward the pair. His red eyes were aglow with... concern? Not even a hint of ill will remained there.

"August!" Dracul breathed out. "By Christ, I was looking everywhere for you!"

"You were?" The fledgling blinked, then cursed. Duh. "Wait, ain't you supposed to be angry?"

A grin pulled at his sire's lips. "I could never hold a grudge against you, August. It's- well, with the Brotherhood patrols scouring these woods... I thought you might be in trouble. I am relieved to see that you're not."

The lesser vampire didn't know whenever to be glad or even more worried. "What patrols?"

"You haven't heard? There's a detachment skulking somewhere nearby. Their intentions are not quite clear as of yet, though I'm certain these are not Radiant Heart footmen." Dracul clicked his tongue. "I can deal with that later." With a quirked eyebrow, he then regarded the body cradled in August's arms. "Who's this?"

"It's a long story and a dull one at that," August lied, covering his uneasiness with a shrug. "I brought her here to give her a respectable burial."

"I see. 'Tis a commendable idea."

"Thanks. But, ah, I was hoping you'd help me. The sun's gonna rise soon and I'm afraid-"

"Of course. We have to look after the ones that leave for Heaven." Another smile. "Dismissed. Can you lead all of the creatures back to the undercroft?" Dracul tipped his head toward Blackblood. "If you can, do so quietly. A racket is bound to wake the children."

"Your wish is my command, my Liege." The lycan bowed and swaggered off.

The fledgling waited till Blackblood moved out of earshot and muttered, "Look, drop this 'nice guy' act, Drac. I know you're pissed at me." He hung his head. "And even if you ain't, you should be. I fuck up _everything_." A hiccup echoed in his throat. "Aello said I should make a goddamn move already. Go out and turn someone. Okay, so I lay an ambush. I see this girl, and what do I do? I faff about and let her die! I fed her blood later on, but... It didn't work."

"No, it wouldn't. The body must accept the change. However, you shouldn't be this hard on yourself, Cresces. With failure comes experience." The corners of the vampire lord's mouth twitched. "Some spend lifetimes to understand their powers."

"Uh-huh, says someone who's mastered them."

"August, I've been a vampire for over a decade now. Whether you like it or not, you learn a trick or two." His friend laughed. "Give it time; I'm sure it'll sort itself out. Still, if you find yourself in a bind, ask either me or Drahoslav. Aye, 'that stark raving mad geezer' will be staying with us for the time being." He paused. "Anyhow, you mentioned burying the girl? There's a good spot right there, near that boulder."

"Yes." The soldier uttered a sigh. "Let's hope manual labor will take my mind off my problems."

"People often underestimate its benefits."

Augustus tried to banish the two-week-old memories that kept nagging him.


	11. Chapter 7: Reconciliation

_Not much to say here, except for the continued appreciation for your continued patience with the slow updates of this fic (most of which are admittedly my fault…) and a bit of awe at your enthusiasm. I hope you enjoy!_

**Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, Rei. Everyone has RL to worry about. But in the meantime, enjoy this short but sweet chapter. We are masters of the Mood Whiplash trope. ;D**

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 20th of October, 1058. Bernhard's Castle, Underground Gardens._

The children, meanwhile, attempted to put what little of their lives that remained back together. The elder ones tried to maintain some semblance of routine and safety, yet even they knew that it was nothing more than a farce. The smallest things brought new waves of panic in the three youngest, from the caw of the crows outside to the smell of the fire that kept their little tower warm. It was terribly common for one or all of the three to wake screaming, or to not be able to sleep at all. They tried to cope in different manners. Julia refused to be parted from her brother and clung to him whenever they were forced to deal with any of the castle's creatures—even the hunchbacks that served them their meals and provided them with the various other things they required. Grant hid himself away in the smallest, hardest-to-reach nooks and crannies he could find, which sent Adrian into a panic on several occasions trying to find the boy and coax him to come out.

Trevor began to wander the halls of the castle alone.

It was not entirely out of character for him to seek solitude, on occasion, but the habit had seemingly been broken by the firestorm and the resulting imprisonment. Now it returned, greater and more troubling than before. While back in the fortress, the boy would never wander far and certainly never took any great risks, now it was clear that he cared little for his own safety. The boy kept himself alive, and little else. What did he have? He had damned his friends simply by daring to be close to them, had abandoned those that had come to their rescue to a fate worse than death, and couldn't even muster the courage to try and confront the monster behind it all—his own father. Those men had been right, all those years ago. He truly was cursed.

He wandered, little more than a living wraith in the great halls of the Dragon. By either luck or his father's design, he never encountered any other creature in his aimless ventures, despite occasionally venturing into places he had been told to leave be. It did little to ease his mood—for even empty, the halls of this castle felt eerie and unwelcoming. But still Trevor wandered, and returned to his friends alive and whole, and then left again without word or warning, coming and going in an endless cycle without rhyme or reason.

Eventually he came across a place that caught his interest—barely. The wooden doors were old and beginning to rot, and through them he could see a variety of brilliant colors. He didn't know where he was, precisely, nor could he bring himself to care. Nor could he really care about the fact that he would likely be in trouble for venturing inside this place that was clearly outside the areas his captor had reserved for him. He simply pushed the door open, peering into the space beyond.

Trees. He was greeted by the sight of trees, tall and grand, leaves bright and branches high and vaulted. Stepping inside, Trevor couldn't help but stare, breath catching for a moment. He had not been expecting anything like this. He was still inside, wasn't he? He thought he was, yet he could not see sky or ceiling for the leaves. Inside or not, a gentle breeze swept past him, toying with his hair and making the leaves dance with a soft rustle.

He had not known how much he had missed that sound until he'd found it again.

Spellbound, he wandered farther inside, relishing the soft crunching as he stepped over the carpet of fallen leaves the made the ground. The entire place was awash with the brilliant colors of autumn, so very bright and beautiful compared to the dull stone and rotting cloths of the rest of the castle. A sudden longing hit the boy—how long had it been since he'd been well and truly outside? How long since he'd gotten to run through the wilds, to poke into caves and dare to climb the tallest of trees? He didn't know—time was all but impossible to keep track of in this place. The days and weeks had long since blurred together.

However long it had been, it was too much—and suddenly the boy was overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness. He wanted to be on the mountainsides again, to look over the ridges and to rest in the clearings of wildflowers. He wanted to swing from the branches of the old oaks and watch the fish dart through the clear mountain streams. He wanted to be home, where he and his friends were safe and free and _happy._

He could not have these things—but the trees here were tall and strong, so very much like the ones he longed for. Stepping around them, it didn't take long to find a low branch that he could leap up and grab and hoist himself on to. Climbing, that he could do. Perhaps, if he climbed high enough, the sounds of the rest of the castle would fall away, leaving him with nothing but the song of wind and leaves and his own beating heart, and Trevor would be able to shut his eyes and pretend he was home.

He was no more careful with his climbing than he'd been with his wandering. While he never made any foolish swings or daring leaps, he was less attentive to the branches he chose as hand and footholds. Still, Trevor was a fairly deft climber, even in his carelessness, and so it was that he managed to rise a fair height. Pausing for a moment, he looked down to the ground below, and wondered, distantly, what it would be like to fall. Would it kill him? Would he live? There was no desire in him to find out, but he couldn't shake the morbid thought regardless. He wouldn't throw himself from the highest branches of his own volition—he couldn't abandon his friends like that, not after all the pain he'd put them through—but the thought wouldn't leave.

Deciding that it didn't matter any more than anything else in this foul place, he returned to climbing, ascending as high as he was able. Up in the highest branches of the trees, Trevor found a peace he had not known for some time. There were no birds to watch here, no distant traces of smoke from a nearby town. There was no movement at all save for the colorful dance of leaves on the wind. For a moment, Trevor managed to convince himself that there was nothing outside of this moment, that there was no demon castle or monstrous dragon or dark fate waiting for him down below. And in that moment, his heart was calm.

The moment, and the peaceful feeling that came with it, was shattered by the sound of boots crunching on the leaves below. Trevor twisted to see who was approaching. Was it Adrian or Hector, worried at his absence and wanting him to be safe? Or was it one of the Dragon's monsters, come to wreak a new nightmare upon him? He would hide in this tree until he had withered and died if it was the latter, for he didn't want to see that creature again. But he hadn't been paying enough attention to his own state—one of his feet slipped from its place as he shifted. A soft sound of surprise left him as he instinctively moved to pull himself up to safety, but the branch he held in his hand snapped from the sudden weight.

And so he fell.

He was unaware of what was happening below him. All Trevor knew was the wind pulling at his hair and the scratches of the branches he passed as he continued to fall. For a moment he almost felt weightless—was this how birds felt, when they soared the skies? How could they ever bear to land? His earlier question came back to him, and he idly pondered it again. Would the fall kill him? He should have been frightened by the prospect of hitting the ground and shattering like glass, but he couldn't find it in him to care. At least now he would have his answer. Surely that counted for something.

Yet there was no sharp pain of impact, no abrupt halt to his descent. Instead he was caught, gathered into someone's arms and cradled and gently brought back down to earth again. He was left winded, and perhaps a bit bruised, but for the most part Trevor was unharmed. His mind, however, took a moment to catch up to reality, and he remained still and docile for those few precious moments.

He had not hit the ground because someone had caught him. That someone was cold to touch, which meant they must have been a vampire. That left two people that the boy could think of. Sure enough, when he finally opened his eyes, there was the Dragon, cradling him close, worry etched into pale features. Trevor jerked away, trying to get free of the vice grip, trying to flee as fast and as far as he could. He did not want to see the Dragon. He was not ready. He never would be, he never wanted to be, the Dragon only brought pain and death and Trevor wanted it all to _stop_—

Dracul set the boy on the ground, but his hands remained firmly on Trevor's shoulders, forcing him to stay and confront the one creature he had been dreading confronting. Nothing he had done before had changed anything. Why would he be able to change anything now? All that would come of this was more pain and terror—

"Trevor," the vampire murmured, raw concern weighing his voice down. "Did you… did you do this on purpose?" Dracul nodded at the tree beside them.

The boy stopped struggling to break free, confusion coloring his features. What in the world did the vampire mean? Of course he was climbing on purpose. How did one _accidentally_ end up at the top of a tree? It wasn't like he'd be forced up there by some monster, nor had he been plucked from the ground and set in the branches—

Wait. Was he asking about the fall?

Trevor was almost offended at the implication. To throw his life away was to abandon his friends. After all the suffering they'd been through because of him, Trevor owed it to each and every one of them to stay with them until whatever end they now faced. That the Dragon thought he would willingly abandon his friends like that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Just because the vampire was content with causing those he claimed to love pain didn't mean that the boy was!

"No. I slipped." He couldn't help but snap the answer out, nor could he help the bitterness that seeped into his words when he added, "Would you even care if I had?"

His breath caught for a moment as he realized he'd said it out loud. He cringed, bracing himself for fire and rage—that's what the Dragon seemed to rain upon anything else that displeased him. Surely a spiteful little boy would be treated no different. Dracul had not cared about sparing him from pain before, why would he start now? But it was too late to take the words back—all Trevor could really do was wait to see what sort of horrors would come from_ this_ encounter.

The vampire seemed taken aback at the words leveled at him—but not angry. If anything, his face contorted in a ghost of despair. Dracul dropped to a knee, staring up at the boy, and replied, "My heart would no doubt shatter, Trevor. I— I can't even allow myself to _think_ of what would happen to me if you were in any way harmed. To know that despite my efforts, I couldn't keep the promise I gave to your mother's spirit." He paused, grip on Trevor's shoulders tightening just slightly. "Of course I care for your health and safety."

The boy shook under the vampire's hands, his breath slightly irregular. How did he feel? Was he afraid? Was he angry? Was he doubtful, or betrayed? He didn't know. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing had made sense since the firestorm. Every time Trevor thought he was finally coming to terms with what was happening, with what his life had become, something threw it all out of balance again. He didn't know what to feel or think anymore—it had been easier to just not feel or think at all, to just wander and not care about anything.

He didn't know how he felt about all of this, but whatever he was feeling, it made him want to cry. He could feel the tears again, and it just added another layer of confusion to the entire ordeal. He'd cried so much recently—when would he run out of tears? What would happen when he did? What would happen if he didn't?

Through it all, however, there was a lingering disbelief. The adults in the fortress had never taken kindly to being snapped at by willful children. They demanded obedience and deference from the squires, and were not above using force to ensure they got it. Yet this Dragon, this king of nightmares, was willing to let it be. It didn't seem real. Trevor was waiting for it to change, was waiting for the smoke and the fire and the horror to come. Maybe this was some trick, like when they had thought they'd escaped into the forest before the Dragon took to wing.

He didn't know if it was fear or anger or just the need to get the words out before he was inevitably silenced again, but Trevor couldn't help but snap out a reply. "You've already _broken _that promise!" His voice cracked with the accusation, and his shaking grew worse. He was falling to pieces, and he couldn't seem to stop it.

"Aye, I...I am aware of that." The vampire's gaze dropped, head hanging almost in shame. "I was hasty and irresponsible. I had exposed you to… too much." The hands that had trapped Trevor fell away, but the boy didn't run—he was too busy staring in utter shock and disbelief at the Dragon before him. "I can only hope that you will forgive me. Please, understand."

"I _don't_ understand!" Trevor's voice rose in pitch and in volume with the declaration, and he managed a step back. "You think saying _sorry_ makes it better? Hector doesn't smile anymore!" There was no hiding the rage in his voice now, nor was there any hope of stopping the words. The dam had burst and all it was all Trevor could do to keep from trying to slug the vampire in the teeth. "Rosaly cries herself to sleep and Sypha doesn't laugh like she used to! Adrian always looks sick now because of this place! Grant screams more than he sleeps! _You nearly __**killed**__ Julia!_ And I—"

All at once, the anger began to die and the despair began to replace it. "What do I have to do to make you stop? You keep—you keep hurting everyone I love. Augustus and Ser V-Valeriy and all my friends—what must I do to make you leave them alone?"

Trevor's life in the fortress of the Radiant Heart had been simple and structured. He did as he was told, and nothing ill came to him or his friends. But here, no matter how well they behaved, no matter how much they tried to keep their heads down and keep their captor happy with them, it didn't seem to matter. The pain only grew worse. "P-please. You say you care but—_please_, just leave my friends_ alone_—"

He didn't care that he was begging. If begging was what it took to make it stop, then that's what Trevor would do. He just wanted things to go back to normal, when laughter came easily and nightmares were few and far between.

Dracul pressed his lips into a grim line. "Trevor, listen to me. That incident with Valeriy and Pierre… you are not to blame. You have never held any blame."

"That-that doesn't mean anything! Why are you doing this? Why must we suffer?"

"Why?" Dracul paused, turning away for a moment. Trevor found himself holding his breath without even realizing it. "I had been robbed of my family, cast aside with none to call my own. Why did my mother and father abandon me? Is it because I was a bastard? Or was there something else? Alas, I do not have an answer to that. No one came along looking for me." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "But with this power things can become how they are _supposed_ to be. No longer will we be alone, forsaken by the remnants of this world, cursed and shunned by the wretches that dwell outside-"

A cold hand cupped Trevor's cheek. He barely registered the touch, so focused was he on trying to comprehend what was being said to him. "That is why I have acted in such a manner. And I do apologize if the means have left an unpleasant taste in your mouth, Trevor."

Family? That was why he was doing this?

On one hand, Trevor could understand the desire for a family. He had grown up watching other children with theirs, knowing that joy was not his to have. He had seen Adrian's father dote on the older boy, seen Isaac and Julia support one another in such small, but meaningful ways, had watched the other boys return home with joyful laughs and bright smiles. Some days, he couldn't help but be bitter about how unfair it was. The boy had no family. He would never know what being family meant.

Except that he did, in an odd sort of way. While the love of blood kin was denied to him, others had taken their place. Augustus had been a father to the boy, comforting him when he was scared or sick and always trying to make him smile. Lady Josephine had showered him with affection, and had never let him go hungry. Adrian taught and guided and protected, when he could. Rosaly cared and tended to wounds and yes, she scolded as well, but never harshly. Grant shared joys and sorrows without reserve, without judgment or ulterior motive. Hector offered an understanding ear and sage advice. Sypha shared interesting things that she discovered; Julia was quick to show affection. Even Isaac was a part of Trevor's odd little family, bickering and beating on the boy but being loathe to allow others to do the same.

That was Trevor's understanding of family—people who loved and supported one another, despite—or even because of!—their differences and disagreements. People who tried to protect and heal one another, not break and belittle.

And by this notion, Trevor arrived at one conclusion—the way Dracul was acting, the manner he treated them, was _not_ family.

The anger returned, still tinted by despair and desperation, and suddenly the hand on his cheek seemed to burn his skin. With shaking hands, the boy swatted it away, stepping back as if to flee. But he didn't run, not yet, no matter how much a part of him wished to. He was getting tired of running, of being powerless. He wanted to do _something_, even if that something was just telling the Dragon how wrong he was.

"Family? Family's not—you're not treating anyone like family!" He was shaking like a leaf, but he didn't know if it was from fear or rage. Surely the vampire would grow angry at this, surely Trevor would suffer for his impudence. But he couldn't stop himself. He didn't want to stop himself. He was tired of the plight of his little family being ignored. "You're just collecting us like pretty trinkets, aren't you. As long as we stay put, you're happy. That's why you keep hurting us. You don't really care, you're just lying." Trevor's voice was soft and brittle as he leveled these accusations, for he had never enjoyed being loud. He didn't have the strength to muster a shout anyways—it was all he could do to keep his voice heard. "We're just prizes you've locked away in a tower. Just a bunch of beasts in a menagerie!"

Dracul flinched as if stung. "A menagerie? No. No, never have I viewed you or your friends as witless animals, Trevor. That episode- I admit, I am hot-headed. But what was I supposed to do? August's screech startled me awake, and the next moment Delilah rushes in, squealing at the top of her lungs. And when I turn up, I see my friend wounded, and that the Brotherhood is attempting to 'extract' you. I defied Fate herself to get you back. I couldn't let them escape. But I will say this again; I'm sorry. With Valeriy I acted on a whim. He was as much of a mentor to me as he was to you. I wouldn't hurt him."

Trevor frowned, giving Dracul a dubious look. When the vampire put it _that_ way, it almost made sense...except for the part where he nearly killed one of the people he claimed to be looking after. But the apology sounded utterly sincere; Trevor himself had made many that had sounded similar. Try as he might, the boy couldn't find the signs of a lie. But he still didn't trust it!

He waited to see if there was more forthcoming, but there wasn't. Dracul just stared at him, and he stared back. After a moment, he took a deep breath and all but whispered, "But you did." He was trying his hardest to be brave, but- It was hard. Trevor knew he was pushing too far. Something bad was going to happen to him, now. And try as he might to face it as the knight he was supposed to be, the boy couldn't help his shaking hands or his racing heart. He tried to stand tall and strong, to glare defiantly at the monster that had hurt him so, but he couldn't. He found himself glancing down and away, shoulders hunching as he began to curl in on himself. One of his feet slid backwards, though he knew running wouldn't save him.

Dracul had said that he loved Valeriy, that he wouldn't hurt him, but he had killed the man regardless. Surely that meant that Trevor wasn't any safer, for all he was the man's son.

The crimson glare washed over him, and the lad felt his tongue glue to the roof of his mouth. A fleeting second of silence, and the vampire lord breathed a sigh. "Why are you afraid of me, my son?"

His reaction was immediate. Trevor's gaze snapped back up to meet Dracul's and he tensed. "I'm not-!" But the words died on his lips. He _was_ afraid of Dracul, terrified even, no matter how much he wanted to pretend he wasn't.

The boy's gaze dropped once more, and it was a fight to find his voice. But Dracul waited, watching him without uttering a word, and Trevor knew he had to answer eventually. "You...you're…you keep acting like a monster," he began in a hushed tone, voice wavering as he spoke, "and every time things look like they'll get better, e-every time it doesn't hurt so much anymore, something happens, and you're always part of it." He wasn't fool enough to think that it was Dracul's fault that Augustus had reacted so badly when Trevor had first realized the man was damned, or that the Brotherhood had come calling and thought it prudent to try and abduct him, no matter how simple it would be to blame him. But, the man had still been involved, sowing pain and despair. "You're there, and you're hurting people, and-w-what if it's Adrian, next time? What if you get angry at something, and Sypha gets hurt by accident, like with Julia? What if it's _me?_ You keep saying I'm your son, but-but-"

But he was having trouble _believing_ it. Or at least, believing that Dracul cared for him as a son.

Trevor took a deep breath, trying to steady himself but failing. He was well and truly scared, now. He wasn't sure why-was he afraid that Dracul would be angry? Or that the vampire would be indifferent? Both were equally terrifying.

"Please." A single, subdued word parted the Dragon's lips. "Please, do not be afraid. It's- The Brotherhood. Those men that tried to abduct you. They cared little for your well-being. They couldn't be bothered to even try to rescue the others! Remember how they deserted Adrian, Isaac, Rosaly, Hector, and Sypha?" A smug smile tugged at the corners of Dracul's mouth. "And for that all the culprits have been punished."

"Valeriy wanted to get the others," Trevor protested. To think that his teacher had been punished for a crime he'd never actually committed...

The vampire's smirk dissolved into a scowl. "All except Valeriy," he pointed out. "Such a righteous soul. When Drahoslav fell, only Valeriy was willing to help him. What does this say about the others?"

The boy stayed silent.

"What I'm trying to say, Trevor, is that… all those who wish to use or abuse you will not be spared. I will kill all of them. However, you needn't fear me; I'd never lay a finger on you or your friends. You have my word."

Trevor slowly peered back up at Dracul, uncertain. There had to be an ulterior motive, hadn't there? This was nothing more than another trick, wasn't it? Just a little bit of hope, dangled in front of him like a carrot, only to be forever out of his reach, no matter how he struggled to grasp it. There was no real reason for a vampire lord to spare a group of children when he was willing to destroy so many others.

Oh, but if it was _true..._

Trevor could not deny that he wanted his father to be a part of his little family. For all he had trouble reconciling the stories of Gabriel with the realities of Dracul, he still hoped, deep in his heart, that he could find the man under the monster and then somehow everything would be _all right_. That the pain would stop and he wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. If this wasn't a trick, if Dracul was serious, maybe that dream wasn't as far out of reach as Trevor thought it was. Maybe he could have his father after all.

"Do you...truly mean that?" He tried to hide the quake in his voice, but God in heaven, he couldn't help but _hope_.

There was a moment of silence, and then Dracul surged forwards. Trevor couldn't help but cry out, tensing and stumbling backwards-of course it had been a trick, and here came the pain he'd been expecting! If only he could get away from this—this—

—this embrace?

The vampire's arms swept him in close and cradled him against a cold chest. Trevor felt the Dragon's nose press into his wild hair, and felt the leather of the man's greatcoat brushing against his chin. The boy stared over Dracul's shoulder, completely dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what was happening. This couldn't be real. The Dragon was a monster, he couldn't be holding him so tenderly! This was just—just some trick of his mind!

Dracul clung a little tighter, a hand petting Trevor's hair, and suddenly it hit the boy. This was real. Dracul was holding him like a father held his own son, like Trevor had always wanted. The boy could feel his eyes prickle with tears again, and he let his forehead fall forwards and rest on the vampire's shoulder. Slowly, tentatively, his arms reached up and wound around Dracul's torso, returning the embrace. The vampire's frame tensed in response, seemingly as surprised at this action as Trevor himself was.

They sat there for a fair while, the only sound around them coming from the leaves dancing on the wind.

Finally Dracul pulled away, one clawed hand coming to rest on Trevor's shoulder. Trevor couldn't meet Dracul's eyes, instead staring at the floor as he withdrew his arms and wrapped them around himself. Despite how the vampire was acting, he was still worried that something terrible was going to happen. Hadn't that been how it always went? Every time they thought things might get a little bit better, something worse happened.

"I'm not angry, you know."

Trevor glanced up.

The vampire lord tilted his head sideways. "Accidents happen, I understand this. But, to tell you the truth, I was devastated when I saw you fall. If you had been injured, crippled even..." His mouth curled down.

A moment of silence passed, and then Dracul spoke once again. "It's your birthday soon, yes? I know what duty you have chosen to carry out upon that day. Would you be so kind and—" his voice cracked, and the vampire paused to take a deep breath before continuing, "—allow me to accompany you? It _is _quite a long journey."

Trevor blinked at the vampire in shock. "Has it really been so long?" Disbelief colored his voice. It had been the height of summer when they'd been swept away, and now they were well into the harvest! Had so much time really passed? It was all but impossible to tell in their tower, for there was little to differentiate one day from the next. Dracul nodded, however, and Trevor really couldn't do anything but take him at his word.

Besides, he had more important concerns. "You'll let me go? Truly?" His mother's grave was so close to the Radiant Heart—close enough that Trevor had been allowed to visit alone, once he was older, so long as he was back by nightfall. For the Dragon, who so vehemently hated the Brotherhood, to be willing to come so close to them just for Trevor's sake—the boy didn't know _what_ to make of it.

"Of course. I wouldn't want to cause you to miss the occasion. It is your responsibility. I… also have a debt to repay, and forgiveness to earn. That is why I wish to accompany you on your journey, my boy."

"But...what about the others? You aren't going to keep them locked up, are you?"

"Ah, I understand your concern, but this particular trip is personal, wouldn't you agree? But, I promise, sometime soon—sooner than you might realize—your loyal companions will be granted the opportunity to roam the nearby forests." Dracul stood, giving Trevor a reassuring grin, before spinning on his heels and beckoning for the boy to follow. "Now, come. We leave at first light."

Trevor stood in shock for a moment more, staring blankly at the retreating back of the Dragon. Had that—had that just happened? Had he really just been promised that his friends would be allowed to go outside, sometime soon? That was—Trevor almost couldn't believe it! This had to be a dream of some sort. He'd wake up in that tower, locked away again, and nothing would have changed—

—Dracul called for him, and Trevor jerked out of his stupor, darting to catch up. That _had_ happened. Dracul was going to let him see his mother, and was going to let him and his friends enjoy relative freedom, sometime soon. He believed it. He _had_ to, elsewise the despair would eat him alive. Dracul had promised that things would get better.

That tiny spark of hope in Trevor's heart flared just a little brighter.


	12. Chapter 8: Contentment

**A/N: Le sigh. I know, I know, but lemme just say that Real Life (TM) got the best of me – if you wish to see a more detailed explanation, visit my sideblog. I just hope this chapter will have been worth the wait.**

**Also, that anonymous hate-review. I laughed, I really did. I dedicate this chapter to the charming fellow who'd left it. xD**

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 21st of October 1058. Bernhard's Castle, "Crow's Nest" aerie_

-|{T}|-

Dawn found Trevor sitting on the steps of the aerie–he had no idea where the castle gate was, and so he couldn't exactly venture there to wait for his father. Hell, he didn't even know what direction, exactly, it was. How troublesome. He'd have to work to fix that. …Would they be allowed to roam where they so chose in the near future? It bore asking, at some point.

The boy sighed, blinking sleepily–he hadn't gotten terribly much rest, in truth, but that was something he was used to. He felt tired, almost to the point of falling back into slumber where he sat. An annoying feeling, that, though he got over it.

Stifling a yawn, he perked up as he heard footsteps–was that Dracul, or perhaps someone to guide him to Dracul? He had been waiting here because it was a fairly visible place, so it was obvious he was there if any came looking for him.

-|{D}|-

"Good, you're up," Dracul said as he espied his son perched on the steps. "I have left all the necessary instructions with August: he will oversee, protect and tend to your friends' needs until we are back. The trip shouldn't take that terribly long, but it's always wise to have a backup plan."

The vampire lord's decision to make this journey as covert as possible demanded a change of both garb and demeanor. Former being discarding the now-traditional crimson coat in favor of an unremarkable steel platemail, a pair of hide boots, armored gauntlets, and a great helmet, currently clutched in the elder's grip. A worn travel cloak trailed after him, hushing out his already nigh-silent footfalls.

He, by all accounts, had the appearance of a common footsoldier of the Brotherhood. Well, save for the milk-white skin and red eyes. Yet even a dead giveaway could be camouflaged. Even the legendary Vampire Killer had its everyday replicas.

"I haven't worn a helmet since apprenticeship," the vampire mouthed to himself. There he flinched, casting the trivial thoughts away, and turned to Trevor. "Alright, follow me. We are going on horseback. Not the coziest means of travel, but it is the least conspicuous."

Quarter of an hour later, the pair trod upon the massive drawbridge – the one leading out of the castle's grounds and into the golden woods. The elder adjusted the saddle of the ebony steed near him – rations, tinderboxes, a sackful of water and other bare essentials – and faced the figure of his son. "Horseback riding is in the Order's core curriculum, but I'll ask this anyway. Have you ever ridden a horse before, Trevor?"

-|{T}|-

There was a horse waiting, just as his father had said. The boy kept well out of the creatures way–he had never really dealt with horses, in truth, and mayhaps he'd had a bad encounter with one in the past. Still, he blinked as he was asked a direct question.

"Hnnn? No, I've no idea how to tend to a horse. They said I wasn't to learn that for another year or two."

To be honest, Trevor had no love for horses. In fact, he rather disliked them. When he'd been a few years younger, a particularly ornery one had tried to take a bite out of him, and he'd never forgiven the species since. Horse bites _hurt_.

-|{D}|-

"It's alright," Dracul replied, slipping on the helmet. The odd sensation made him shudder. "You will in be the passenger's spot for the duration of the trip. Just hold onto my waist, or the holsters on either side of the saddle. Be warned: we'll be cantering all the way."

The vampire helped Trevor get comfortable in the saddle, careful not to let the folds of his cloak get stuck between the metal bands, and climbed after him. The ebony steed whinnied impatiently, hooves digging into the planks of the drawbridge. Coiling the reins around his wrist, Dracul lightly prickled the horse's sides with his heels. Immediately, it set off, trotting loudly, but diligently.

"The Radiant Heart is about two hundred miles from here." The elder glanced at the sun. "At this pace the trip will take…two, two-and-a-half days. We're going to traverse the Land of the Lycans- though I shouldn't really call it that. But I think you'll like Agharta, my boy. It's a decaying ruin, but it is beautiful in its own right."

-|{T}|-

Trevor didn't fight much as he was lifted and set into the saddle, nor did he shift much once placed. Perhaps it was because of his distaste for the creature, or perhaps it was because he was simply too tired to protest. Whatever the reason, it made Dracul's job much easier.

Once Dracul had pulled himself in front of the boy, small fingers gripped the cloak the vampire wore, and held, just as commanded. The creature beneath him began to move, and the boy sort of slumped against his father's back, silent. Tired, so tired–normally he was up with the sun, but recently he couldn't remember when the last time he'd gotten a proper night's rest. And so a boy that was already pretty useless in the mornings became worse.

Oh, he was being spoken to. Trevor tried to follow what the vampire was saying, but between the rhythm of the horse's hooves on the dirt and the gentle motion that accompanied it, all the boy could think of was how if he pulled his hood _just so_ he could block out the daylight and maybe go back to sleep.

Daylight. That would have alarmed the boy, had he the wits to realize what it should have meant for the man before him. As it was, he just wanted the sun to go away so he could slee-

"Not a morning person, are you, Trevor?" A delighted snort was not something Trevor had anticipated. "And here I thought all budding Brotherhood squires got up with the chickens. Couldn't sleep?"

"Hmph?" The boy blinked, attempting to process what he was being told. Darn it, there went his drowse. "A little."

"It's all right, I am not going to lecture you. I too had a problem with oversleeping when I was a squire. One fine day I inconvenienced an inquisitor. And he..." A shudder racked the vampire's body. "Let's just say I'm glad you won't get the chance to upset them. They can be quite an uncompromising lot."

"It really depends on the person," Trevor said.

"Indeed, but the general rule of thumb suggests that the more power is bestowed upon one the more arrogant they become. 'Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall,' after all."

The little Belmont furrowed his brows. More arrogant? He had very nearly opened his mouth to dispute Dracul's logic, but found himself having second thoughts. Sighing, he instead focused on the autumn landscapes around them. Gentle sunlight caressed the nape of the boy's neck. Not a cloud in the sky. Trevor scrutinized the man before him and even smelled the air. No, no odor of anything burning. "Can I ask you something?"

Dracul shrugged. "Anything."

"I had been told that all who affiliate themselves with the Dark Lords despise sunlight. So, ngh, how come-"

"-light doesn't harm me?" the Dragon finished. "Darkness is my portfolio. I can coax it, weave it. This resistance has been with me since the day I became what I am. I... I shall speak no more of it. Oh, and by the by, you should get some sleep. I will wake you when we reach Agharta."

Trevor gazed up at him. His father was obviously keeping a secret, but not that he was going to poke his nose into anyone's business. He knew firsthand just how unpleasant it could get when others tried to uncover it. "A'ight." He snuggled up to the vampire, fingers curling around the edges of his cloak, and closed his eyes. In spite of the loud clack of the horse's hooves, he could hear the man's breath hitch.

The journey continued, and Trevor dozed–he was never really asleep, but he wasn't exactly awake, either. Eventually he woke fully, though it didn't change the silence that reigned over the journey. Trevor could think of nothing to say, and so he said nothing. Instead he contented himself with watching the scenery go by. Dracul had been correct, it was a beautiful land, if a bit somber, and Trevor appreciated the views their journey offered him.

The Aghartian ruins themselves were a cheerless affair. Few people had dared to venture into these depths – it had, after all, only been a decade since the fall of the Lords of Shadow, and even with the numbers of straggler lycans declining, there were other dangers. Trevor never saw more than a glimpse of the trolls and gremlins that were rumored to lay in this ruined land still, but those few glimpses were enough to know they were there. It was likely his father's power that kept them at bay – a group of commoners wouldn't have such security in their travels.

People had started to settle near the edges of the ruined city – but only the edges. The structures were still terribly unsound, ready to collapse at a moment's notice. Patrols of soldiers – mostly the Brotherhood's troops – ventured farther than an average man, but even they dared not go too far for fear of being trapped or overrun. It was a long, ongoing project – or at least, that's the impression Trevor had gotten, back when he'd been able to listen to the stories of the knights.

Dracul guided them away from the patrols, caravans, and bandits – away from humanity as a whole. On one hand, Trevor was thankful for this. He didn't want to have to watch someone else die. On the other, he was sad, because he missed human contact. He loved his friends dearly, but being locked away in a castle full of monsters was enough to dampen anyone's spirits. Seeing people again, being somewhere normal, was something he couldn't help but daydream about.

They stopped for the nights, for his sake if nothing else, as he still needed rest and his father wouldn't allow him to sleep – properly sleep – in the saddle. It was one of the few conversations that came up between them, involving a silly little story where Dracul had done that very thing as a young squire, and how his neck ached unless he held his head at just the right angle for a next few days. It had made Trevor smile, though he couldn't find it in himself to laugh.

Camps were calm affairs, with small fires set under outcroppings of old, crumbling stone and modest trail-meals. Trevor was grateful that Dracul lit the fires with flint and tinder, instead of with his strange magic. He didn't know if he could handle the sight of those flame gauntlets again, not after everything that had happened. The food was simple and filling, and while his bedroll wasn't nearly as comfortable as his bed, the fact that he was outside more than made up for it. He tried to memorize all the colors of the leaves and the sounds of nature around him, because he knew once this trip was over it might be a long time before he got to see them again.

One morning stood out from the rest of the journey. They had been near the heart of the city, or so Dracul had told him, and stopped for the night near a big pile of rocks with a great face in the middle. Dracul had grown melancholic – or perhaps broody was the word – at the sight of such a thing, but no words were spoken. Trevor wanted to ask, but he got the feeling he wouldn't get any sort of straight answer. Instead the boy tried to remember the tale that the Dragon had spun when he'd first been taken captive, and any mentions of great stone faces that might have been there. They'd camped nearby, and everything was the same as the previous night up until Trevor woke up. Normally, the vampire had breakfast ready for the boy and the horse saddled by the time Trevor was aware enough to be useful. This time, however, the boy woke to smoldering embers and silence, utterly alone. The horse was still picketed, tail flicking and face about as bored as a horse's could get, but there was no Dracul.

Panic had spiked for a moment, once the realization had sunk in, and Trevor had scrambled to his feet to try and find the vampire lord. He dared not stray far from their tiny camp, for fear of getting lost or, worse, in trouble, but he looked all the same. It took some time, but eventually he found the man, crouching in front of what appeared to be an improvised cross made out of weathered sticks. A grave? All the way out here? Trevor couldn't help the tilt of his head. Who would be buried out here, in a desolate city, and why would Dracul of all people care?

It took a bit of concentration, but eventually he thought he remembered what his father had said happened in Agharta. Before he could find the way to the Dark Lord's lair, he'd had to face a titan of the fallen city. There had been someone helping him, a girl whose name Trevor couldn't honestly recall, but she had died. That must be her grave.

Suddenly feeling like he was intruding on something very private, Trevor backed away to the camp and began trying to prod life back into the embers. Even the Dragon regretted some things, it seemed. Trevor took comfort in this, because it meant that he might not regret choosing to believe the vampire when he'd said as much earlier.

The sun had long since risen by the time Dracul returned. Trevor had given up on the campfire, instead swiping some jerky from the rations and making do with that and packing up what he could from the camp. He didn't ask what the vampire had been doing – he couldn't find the words – and Dracul never bothered to say, beyond that it was something both incredibly important and deeply personal. That day had been far quieter than even the two before.

As they approached more civilized lands, they crossed with people once more. Both vampire and boy played the part of tired and weary travelers, so far from home. Brotherhood patrols also became more frequent, and Dracul became hard-pressed to avoid them, but somehow they managed. Once, while waiting for one such patrol to pass beyond the rise they had hidden behind, Trevor considered calling out for help. He'd been kidnapped, after all. He was a prisoner. Surely someone would care enough. But he swiftly decided against it – there was no way that handful of soldiers could face a Dragon and win, and there was no way he could leave his friends behind in that castle. So he kept quiet and listened as the pounding of hooves and jangle of armor faded into the distance.

Once they had reached the area of the Radiant Heart – once the boy realized that he knew these surroundings, that he knew that tree and this path and that trail through the underbrush – Trevor shifted and slipped off the horse, landing on his feet with a soft '_oof!_'. He did not like horses and he knew the way well enough, now, so he intended to finish the journey on foot.

"Be careful."

He paused only briefly to turn and stare at his father, a simple acknowledgment of the fact that he had been addressed – be careful, pah, of course he was careful! – before he turned and carried on, enjoying the crisp morning air and the crunch of leaves under his feet. He wasn't trying to be quiet or subtle – after all, when he went to visit his mother's grave, no one else was ever around. Why would this be any different? The horse's laugh-like whinny pursued him.

The boy was in no hurry. He would stop, occasionally, to let his hand trail across a particular tree, or to watch a wild animal scurry away – allowing himself to enjoy the fact that he was home, out in these familiar wilds. He even paused to find some flowers – few though they were, some had managed to bloom. He always found these around this time of year, perhaps they grew in the cold, instead of the warmth of spring? He'd have to ask Rosaly.

Finally, he came to the clearing and the ash tree under which his mother lay, a spatter of bright flowers in hand and leaves crackling under his boots. As he stepped to the edge of the trees, he stopped, pausing in surprise.

Someone stood before the grave – someone he did not know. It was not a warrior, for there was no armor, no weaponry, nor was it anyone the boy could remember being even remotely close to him. Confused, his head tilted, and he watched them for a moment, eyes bright in the shadow of his hood. A frown tugged at the boy's lips as he failed to come up with an adequate answer, and perhaps he gave a light sigh. But still he said nothing, for he could think of nothing to say.

-|{D}|-

A female figure moved into into his sight, causing Dracul to dig his heels into the horse's sides. Who could– a Brotherhood spy? No, it didn't make sense; not a single soul on this earth knew of this place! It was a haven in its own right. No one had the _right_ to pry-!

"…Nicole and Nikita visited us the other day," the woman murmured, eyes affixed on the gravestone. Her voice was soft but had an unmistakable French burr to it. "They helped us around the house, and the shack, and the barn. The kindest souls. I can already tell, Marie, they both are going to be distinguished merchants, and others would praise them for their generosity and benevolence."

The former knight's eyes widened. "Mathilda."

-|{T}|-

"Who?" The word was not hushed, not even close. Trevor didn't know anyone who should be at the grave of his mother, save for perhaps the vampire beside him. The name meant nothing to him, for he did not know it.

Well, that didn't matter to the boy. He was here to see his mother, and see his mother he would. So he stepped forwards, carefully coming up beside the strange woman that his father seemed to recognize, and gently set the flowers down over the patch of earth before the grave. He wondered if it would be better to plant some flowers, that his mother might always have some, but he knew not what to plant, or how. He would have to ask Rosaly or Sypha.

But that could be done at a later date.

"Hello again, Mother. I've come back."

-|{D}|-

Startled, the woman leaped a foot into the air, hood of her cloak slipping back. Dracul squinted and rode in closer. The passing of her youngest child had certainly left a brand on Mathilda Damour. Silver streaked her hair. Her hazel eyes had lost their lustrous sheen, faded to an off-white color that now mantled her pupil. Her full-figured, elegant robes looked tattered and unwashed. A burlap sack with gardening tools lay at her feet. Well, it's been over a ten-year since he last saw her – she would change.

"Who–" Mathilda squeaked, giving the boy a fearful glance. "Who are you?"

"Don't worry, ma'am Damour, he's with me," Dracul called out, dismounting. "We did not mean to intrude. And certainly meant no disrespect."

Again, the elderly woman jumped in shock. "That voice! G-Gabriel?" A gasp left her throat as the warrior approached her. "Is that you? I… I cannot see very well… Ah! It really _is_ you! You've returned! Oh, thank the Lord! We all thought you have perished in the bog!"

"Why the bog?" The former knight smiled from under his helmet. "At any rate, I'm happy to tell you that I made it past the swamp. _Well_ past the swamp."

"Where have you been then?" his mother-in-law inquired. "All of us were worried sick!"

"All? Even Theodore?"

The woman stumbled over her own words, clearly uncomfortable. "Um, Theodore… he, ergh… he–" She heaved a raspy sigh and focused her attention elsewhere. "You must understand. Sorrow and anger changed him." Mathilda gave Trevor another queasy look. "And is this–"

Dracul nodded solemnly. "Aye. Trevor meet Mathilda. She's your grandmother."

-|{T}|-

Trevor was silent for the entirety of the exchange, choosing instead to seat himself before the grave, as was his way. Typically, he would begin speaking, telling his mother about all the things that he had seen and done, all his joys and sorrows and concerns. Now, however, he did not want to voice any of this thoughts – not with an audience, and certainly not while he was sitting next to a stranger.

…A stranger that was apparently related to him.

He shifted to glance over at his father when his name was called, bright eyes still shadowed by his hood, and seemed to freeze for a moment at the information revealed to him.

He glanced up at the elderly woman–he couldn't really say he recognized her face, but perhaps she did bear a vague resemblance to someone he would recognize – someone he would rather not think of at the moment, or ever.

He stared for a moment, not really caring that he was technically being exceptionally rude, and then turned back to his father.

"I have a grandmother?" The boy's tone was one of detached curiosity, like it didn't matter to him one way or another. And, perhaps, in a way it did not. Whatever chance he had had to bond with this woman was lost, after the Dragon-raid, not that Trevor could even find it in himself to desire to change that. He had lived in that fortress for ten years, and only once had he run into a blood relation–and that once was not an incident he wished to repeat. If this woman had wanted to know her grandchild, she had had plenty of chances – and not taken any of them.

Perhaps the boy felt a bit _bitter_ about that.

-|{D}|-

"From your mother's side," Dracul explained, "our in-laws are reasonable folk, with the exception of Marie's eldest brother, Theodore. But at this point I'm glad our last encounter didn't turn out to be violent."

Mathilda bowed her head in shame. "Theodore can be overprotective, I know. Marie's death scarred him heavily, but he's been recovering. He even has a family of his own now." She let out a somber laugh and lowered herself to Trevor's eye level. "And you have found yours." The woman reached out, wizened hands shaking, and cupped the boy's cheeks. "Such a handsome young man. Hngh, I was aware of Marie's pregnancy."

"You were?" The former knight cocked his head.

"Yes. I visited her a few months after the Brotherhood sent you to dispatch the Daemon Lord." Their gazes met. "There were signs. The change in her habits and demeanor. I had a hunch, and it took just a little bit of sweet talk for her to confess."

"But–" The vampire's voice cracked. "Mathilda, if you knew why didn't you tell me?"

"She'd said 'she was waiting for the right time' and that 'it was her responsibility to unveil the pregnancy'." The merchant woman sighed. "I do recall her practically beaming with joy as she spoke those words, and I vowed not to foil her surprise. She had given birth right before her passing." Mathilda pursed her lips. "Those brigand savages. To attack a defenseless woman like that-"

"That I know," Dracul cut her off, lip curling; the recital of the official Brotherhood take on Marie's murder left a sour aftertaste in his mouth. "I'm here to pay my respects. Beg her for forgiveness; I wasn't there when she needed me most."

"You two were a match made in Heaven." Mathilda's mouth stretched into a wistful smile as she regarded Trevor once more. "You resemble your mother so much, Trevor. An angel just like my darling Marie."

-|{T}|-

It was a fight not to flinch away from the woman's touch – Trevor wasn't exactly happy with the fact that this stranger was touching his face, grandmother or not. But he owed it to his mother to be cordial with this woman, and he would not dare to do something as callous and disrespectful as swatting her hands away in front of Marie's grave.

So he sat, still and rigid, as she looked him over, pushing the hood off in the process and baring his features to the world. He refused to look either his father or his grandmother in the eyes, instead glancing away to stare at his mother's grave, trying to keep his face unreadable.

The mention of his mother's brother made him tense slightly, but Trevor willed himself to relax, for the man was not here. The conversation about how he was hidden from his father made him shift uncomfortably – he had not know the details of that, just that Dracul had said it was so – but still the boy remained relatively calm and docile, if detached.

At least, until Mathilda addressed him directly once more. He took the compliment rather well, considering how uncomfortable this whole situation was becoming for him, but he decided to throw caution to the wind and sate his curiosity.

Careful to keep his voice calm and neutral – he would not accuse, not here and not now – Trevor spoke softly, "Why have I not met you before now?"

-|{D}|-

Mathilda held one arm with the other at the elbow. "We had deliberately distanced ourselves from you, Trevor. We are sorry, but we had to." A deep furrow creased her brow. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be out of harm's way; not with Theodore insisting we cut all ties with your family. Even Stanislav – my husband, – couldn't really defy him. Understand, grief can make us do terrible things, and Marie's death it brought out the worst in us. Anna, your mother's older sister, was the only one who had kept her wits." The woman clutched her burlap sack close. "I'm so, so sorry for Theodore's heinous act, my boy! None of us could have foreseen that he would even have the mettleto raise a hand against a _child!_"

Dracul's jaw clenched at Mathilda's words. "Whatever do you mean, ma'am?" he spoke, voice quiet and meek – the tidings had caught him off guard.

The Damour covered her mouth. "You mean you don't know? Theodore and his coterie cudgeled the boy to near-death when he mere six years old! I nearly disowned him after that, but Stanislav stayed my hand!"

The vampire glared back, stunned. He could feel his hands balling into fists – his claws punctured the thin metal of his gauntlets. "For some reason, I am not surprised," he said in a flat voice, "the only reason that slug did not try to confront me is because he knew he wouldn't be able to withdraw. But to attack a child. I apologize, ma'am, but I would mount his head on a spike even if it _weren't_ my child."

-|{T}|-

The boy had jerked away from his grandmother when the incident was brought up, grimacing and turning to stare away, curling in on himself out of instinct. He tried to speak – really he did – but his throat had gone dry, and so the words died before they could ever ring out through the air. Why did she have to bring it up? Trevor would rather pretend that had never happened, that his mother's family had never seen him, had only barely known of his existence, but the woman had to drag that damned incident into the light, and Trevor wanted to hate her for it.

Now his father was asking questions, and Trevor curled in on himself a little tighter, angry and ashamed, fists clenching tightly. Why did they have to keep talking about it? It had happened long ago, there was no changing it, and making him remember did no one any favors!

The words from his father's lips were the last straw, and finally the boy found his voice, brittle though it was. "Let it be!" he cut Dracul off, fully well aware that the vampire probably intended to carry out that threat, likely within the near future. "You shouldn't say such things. Not in front of Mother's grave!"

-|{D}|-

The vampire's head snapping in Trevor's direction. With a muffled 'pardon us' aimed at Mathilda, he withdrew aside. "Are you trying to justify that whoreson's crime? He abused you!" he hissed through gnashed teeth when Mathilda was out of his hearing range. "And here I was wondering where did you collect those scars on your back. No, the miscreant must pay for his error, Trevor!"

-|{T}|-

No. Oh, no, the vampire did not just go there. Irritation gave way to a simmering rage, and the boy slowly tilted his head back and glared at his father, bright eyes as cold and sharp as any blade. He would not shout, shouting would draw attention and cause him more problems than had already happened on this trip – he was starting to regret it now, if only because this was happening in front of his mother's grave and oh, she must be crying from her place in Heaven, seeing her husband and son and mother like they were.

Such a wretched lot his family had.

Instead of shouting, he snarled, a low growl that rumbled in his small chest. "And you _haven't?_ What makes him any different from you? I bear scars from the burns your flames gave me that night, and so do my friends!" He tensed at the memory, but forced it away, for he was not done just yet. "You are so quick to condemn a man for a crime you've also committed! What right do _you_ have to punish the man when you have wronged me as much as he, if not more so? Will you deal the same punishment to yourself? I doubt it. And if you do not, than punishing him is not justice, it's you using me as an excuse to justify your own wanton cruelty!"

All the while Trevor maintained that cutting stare, adding another layer of accusation to his words. He may have begun to reconcile with the truth of who – and what – his father was, but that did not mean he would stand for bloodshed in his name. Nay, Trevor was a knight, and that meant protecting people. Even the ones who didn't deserve it.

"Leave the man alone," the boy said, all but ordering the Prince of Darkness to bend to his will, "he is Mother's family, and while that may not mean anything to _you,_ it certainly does to me."

And with that, Trevor turned on his heels and stalked away into the forest – away from the Radiant Heart and the path back to the Bernhard's Castle both. He wanted very much to be alone, for he was in too foul a mood now to speak with his mother, and he didn't want to be overheard regardless, not by the grandmother that had never bothered to know him and not by the father who couldn't see how much of a hypocrite he was being.

-|{D}|-

The elder sputtered at Trevor's tirade, but by the time Dracul had recovered his voice again, the boy had stomped off into the woods, cracks and rattles betraying his whereabouts. The vampire glowered after him, mouth curling into a bitter mockery of a simper. He kicked a tree in frustration.

Such inconsiderate child! One day his antics would surely get him killed. The day of his twentieth birthday couldn't arrive sooner! He had to endure ten more yearsbefore anything remotely productive could be accomplished. And why? Because the Prince had himself vowed so. Dracul had sworn an oath, and he would not not keep it.

Couldn't he understand that everything done, be that good or bad, was for his own sake? That pain was required in order to protect him from the unspeakable cruelty others would subject him to, if they would ever learn the truth of his origin? The Son of the Dragon wouldn't survive midst the lechers and curs humankind consisted of.

With an infuriated sigh parting his lips, the elder stalked back to the grave. Mathilda was still there, posture hunched and head drooping. Perhaps, she had sensed that he might not be what she had thought him to be. Dracul quickly weighed all pros and cons. His eyes darted toward the tombstone then settled on the cowering merchant woman.

"Forgive me," he murmured, "but I can't let your mother prattle. She has seen, heard too much." With this, he smacked his hand across her mouth – to smother her screams, to not alert Trevor – and opened the visor of his full-face helmet with the other.

It might not have been the Damour he eagerly wanted to gut, but this one would slake his thirst for now.

He tried not to let a drop spill.

-|{T}|-

He was oblivious to what his father thought, nor the expression leveled at his retreating back – save for the prickling between his shoulder-blades that told him he was being stared at.

The boy refused to be cowed, however, and stalked off into the brush. He wandered without aim for a while – and then looked up to find that his feet had taken him back to the ruined old cottage that had once belonged to his parents. How odd. Or perhaps, not odd at all. He knew the house was not far from spot where his mother lay at peace.

With a soft hum to himself, Trevor forced the door in, and then shut it behind him – an old habit, seeing as he technically wasn't supposed to ever come into this place. It was too dangerous, or so he was told. He wasn't sure if he believed that – because he'd walked in here plenty of times and never been hurt, or because he'd recently been in a far more perilous place, he didn't know, but he didn't feel ill at ease here.

He slipped through the house, silent, poking here and there. Kitchen, fireplace, pantry – ah, there it was. The remains of a rather large bed – and the small bookshelf beside it. The boy pulled out one of the books and blew the dust off of it, reading the crinkling pages carefully. He'd already read all of his father's old journals, several times, in fact, but right now, he found comfort in the simple words before him.

He didn't know how long he spent, sitting there and reading.

-|{D}|-

Twigs and pebbles scratched against the weathered hide of the vampire's boots as he slogged through the woods. Where had the boy gone? It was not the time for games, not with the obstinate Brotherhood scouts snooping around. What could happen if one would see a lone child in the middle of the woods without any adult supervision? A child who had himself hailed from thisstronghold?

Dracul halted in his tracks and a shiver ran down his spine. The cottage. Is this where Trevor had sought succor? Why here of all places? The elder's eyes darted from side to side as he mulled over his choice of action. Trevor was in there. To the boy this was yet another abandoned house, but to himself-

A breathy wheeze raked against Dracul's throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he marched towards the cottage's porch, strides wide. Pausing only to draw breath, the vampire gave the door a gentle push. It obediently swung open, the screech of the long-rusted hinges saluting the newcomer. Or rather, the household's former occupant. The vampire faltered at the realization, and hastily leaned against the wall to steady himself.

"Trevor," Dracul called, "are you all right?"

-|{T}|-

He had lost track of time, and so the creak of the door took him by complete surprise. He jolted involuntarily, and one of the pages sliced his finger, causing the slightest trail of blood to drip to the dusty floor.

Well. Great. Between the gasp at being started and the sudden smell of blood, he wasn't going to be able to pass himself off as a rat – if he ever had a chance of doing such, anyways.

Still, he had to face his father at some point or another, no matter how much he wished he could avoid the questions that were sure to come. With a sigh, Trevor closed the old journal, trailing his hands over the cover for a moment, before carefully pushing himself to his feet. He winced as the papercut came in contact with the dirty floor–he'd have to get Rosaly to clean it later, just to be safe–but pressed on, peering around the corner.

Sure enough, there was Dracul, standing in the threshold – but only just, almost as if he could not enter the home proper. Blinking, Trevor's head tilted in curiosity – was this place so painful to the vampire? He had not thought of that when he'd entered – then again, he had not been thinking much at all when he'd come to rest in this rotting place.

"I'm here," the boy managed to whisper, voice hanging in the quiet air.

-|{D}|-

A sigh of release fled the vampire's throat. "I'd lost all trace of you, but I'm relieved to see everything's fine. If something would happen to you–" Dracul trailed off, gaze flickering from one feature of the long-abandoned home to another. The fireplace, the larder, the cupboards and bookcases…

Allowing for a pensive smile to twist his lips, Dracul stepped inside. And to think he had spent a number of untroubled years within these walls. A fascinating sensation. From the corner of his eye he saw Trevor holding on to a small, leather-bound notepad. His journal? Ah, so this was what had interested the boy so. The everyday remarks on his travels and duties around the Radiant Heart. The rough charcoal sketches and plans. His smile wavered just a bit.

"It has always been a habit of mine," Dracul spoke, gesturing to the notebook tucked under the boy's arm. "I had found it funnily reassuring to keep track of what happened. And these journals came from before I was gifted with a tome enchanted specifically to keep track of my accomplishments. I guess, you can say, that it is writing itself. The ingenuity of magic."

-|{T}|-

He was silent as his father spoke, broke off, and spoke again. This… what not what he had expected. The boy had figured he would be scolded for stomping off in a huff, for making such a scene, and for being willful and disobedient… and then interrogated about the incident that had recently been brought to light.

This vampire kept taking him by surprise. Trevor wondered when he would finally know what to expect.

The conversation had turned to the journal tucked at his side, and Trevor slowly brought it up to look at the worn leather cover. "I've read all of it," he admitted quietly, allowing himself to step fully into the room, "many times. It… it was the closest I could get to having you here." He did not mention that he had written little things of his own – not a journal, but letters, letters that were never sent, for they would never be received.

-|{D}|-

"Oh?" Dracul led the boy into the living room. "I'm… I'm– I don't know what to say, Trevor. Have you really… have you really read it? Before I had arrived?" He looked downward as he lowered himself on the bench beside the dining table.

Could he be telling the truth? The vampire ran his fingers through his hair. Did the boy truly dedicate countless hours, reading, studying the text in these mediocre diaries? 'Twas a question the former soldier did not have an answer to, but… _Aye_, a tiny voice in his mind rustled, aye_._ Trevor did miss his father. Desperate enough to cling to any hint, any indication of his existence. Of Gabriel Belmont's – wretched – existence.

Dracul blinked. No, there had to be some other way of strengthening the kindred bond. He had forged this armor of indifference to shield himself; it would unwise to take it off now. All the same, something _had_ to be done to reap the fruits of his labor later on. He had to cultivate the field in some manner or another. Without it, all of his efforts would be futile.

"Trevor, tell you what," the elder began, "there is someone very special I want you to see when we return to the castle. I am certain he will be equally thrilled to meet you at long last as well."

-|{T}|-

The boy trailed behind the vampire, stopping in the entryway to the living area while the man sat down. A space sat between them, one that seemed all the larger for the emotional distance, and had Trevor been older he might have found the symbolism of it all amusing in a way. But he did not catch the true weight of his reluctance, for he was simply a child acting on instinct.

He nodded silently to the question that had been posed. Yes, he had read and reread that journal, just as he had badgered everyone he could for information on his father. August, Valeriy, other knights in the compound, even traders from a far-away village named Wygol. There had been no end to the boy's curiosity, nor his desperation for answers.

His head tilted at Dracul's sudden suggestion. Who could the vampire possibly mean? So far as the boy knew, the only creatures in the castle that were capable of conversing with were Dracul and Augustus. Was it Vale– The boy went a bit pale at the thought, clutching the old journal tightly to his chest.

It took him a moment, but Trevor managed to banish the memories back into the depths of his mind, and focus once more on the present. "…Who is it?"

-|{D}|-

The change in the boy's expression and posture did not escape the vampire, and he bounced a curled knuckle against his lip. He had understood just how that incident with Valeriy had affected the boy. A deep, emotional gash that had scarred his body and crippled his trust. And yet… The ends justified the means. It had to be done. Even at the cost of Trevor's view of him. The elder could only hope that, with time, the boy would adapt and get used to the grim setting of the castle and the lands surrounding it. There were fiends far worse than himself wandering its desolate halls, ready and willing to butcher any trespasser and relish in their suffering. They would not exercise restraint if they saw a pack of defenseless children invading their domains. Dracul had simply kept them all in check, by force if need be.

A huff echoed in the elder's throat. "I believe you are acquainted with someone called Drahoslav? Good man, but a bit peculiar in his research. He was," he took a deep breath, "he was a part of Valeriy's party."

Dracul cleared his throat. "Anyhow, he was most willing to offer his services as a tutor in arcane arts. I think it would cheer the girls quite a bit, Julia in particular. At the same time, would you, and others of your age, like to resume your daily training sessions with August? With genuine equipment and instructions this time?"

-|{T}|-

"Oh." Trevor squeezed his eyes. He vaguely remembered the man; the vampires had saved him from falling. The boy cringed at the memory, cringed at the feeling of heaviness in his stomach. But before he could relive the events of that awful day, his father's words caught his attention.

He listened quietly to the offer to continue his training. He wanted to be able to connect with Augustus again, really he did, but after all that had happened… would such a thing even be possible? He didn't know.

"Ser Augustus cannot train all of us at once," was the boy's sole reply. And it was true. His godfather was a talented knight, but there were five boys – assuming the girls did not eventually join in to learn to defend themselves – each of which used a different style of combat.

There was more to it. Augustus would be able to train them in wielding swords, spears, daggers, maces – all of the more traditional tools of war, but not the combat cross.

Trevor's hand hovered near where his cross would have been holstered, had he worn it – he couldn't bring himself to so much as look at his chosen weapon, it reminded him too much of Valeriy, and so it remained buried under the small blanket on his bedside. There were only two people Trevor knew of that could train him with such a weapon – one was recently deceased, and even if he was fit for conversation by this point, the boy was not fit to converse with him.

The other sat before him, watching his movements.

-|{D}|-

"That's true," the vampire lord admitted, stroking his chin. "August is an excellent fighter – I know this from personal experience, – but your clique is just too different. The education level, the backgrounds, the age gap. Perhaps, we could split your party into pairs or groups of three-four? This would simplify the training sessions to a degree."

He snorted. "But even that would stress him to no end. Then there's the matter of conflicting schedules, habits, hobbies, and a number of other minor things that have to be addressed." He swallowed laughter. "Of course, I'd help him in this. We've always had each others' backs."

-|{T}|-

"You would teach us?" The words left him before he could even think on them, and suddenly he was that much more attentive to what was going on. This vampire would teach children? Certainly he had claimed to care for their well-being and the like, but he had always been a distant watcher, only barely involved. Would he throw that role away so readily?

A part of the boy wanted it to be a lie. He wanted this vampire to leave him and his friends alone, to let them all go back to their lives, peaceful and ignorant. But there was no going back – even if, by some miracle, the eight of them could leave that cursed castle, the events would not simply fade away. No, they were all of them changed, for better or for worse.

Another part of the boy, a small, secret part, wanted desperately for it to be truth. He had been so eager to take up the cross, put so much effort into learning it, all because it had been his father's chosen weapon. He had always wished that he could show the man just how far he'd come, how much he'd learned, how much potential he had. Now here was his chance.

"I thought you were busy. You've never stayed for long before."

-|{D}|-

"I am. The role of the ruler of a small principality is not as easy as it might seem, but I have managed to sort everything out. At least, for the moment. As a result, I now can focus on my pastimes and interests. And, aye, I would like to offer my services as a teacher."

Dracul gave the boy a beaming smile. "As you well know, Trevor, the more exotic weapons are my specialty, but I can also tutor you and your friends in swordsmanship and military art. After all, strategy and tactics are as important as raw skill. I have spent quite some time in the libraries, researching the art of war. A fascinating subject, and quite useful in life too. You can't really bet on your intuition all the time."

He hummed, deep in thought. "August nearly fell prey to that back when we were squires. And they've called me hotheaded! Well, fine, I am a bit hotheaded. On the other hand at leastIdid not miss the lectures! And after that mishap – remind me to tell you about it on a later date – I made sure August would too."

-|{T}|-

And Trevor thought he had gotten used to this vampire taking him by surprise. Nope, not even close.

The boy could only blink and stare at the sheer _normality_ of the words leaving Dracul's lips. What. What was even going on here. How did this happen. This whole trip had started somber, gone straight to heated, and now had suddenly become normal. He could almost imagine that the cottage around him wasn't rotting away into mother nature's embrace, but standing tall and strong, and that the man before him was simple and human and not the Prince of Darkness.

The entire thing rendered him speechless, and for a moment his only response was the tilt of his head and a confused noise. One could almost imagine him to be a puppy, baffled and curious.

The last bit – the part about Augustus being hotheaded – intrigued him. He'd had several conversations with the soldier in question about his youth, and always, always Augustus had denied such claims. Gabriel was the hotheaded one, he'd say. Hearing Dracul turn that one around was funny to the boy, and Trevor's mouth twitched upwards, the barest hint of a laugh leaving his lips. "He would claim quite the opposite, you know."

-|{D}|-

"I've known August since my adolescence," the vampire said with a fond smile. "He's always been quirky, and sometimes would even try and pin his attempted misadventures on me, the commotions which did not involve me."

He cleared his throat and mimicked the teenager's peeping voice. "But, ser knight, why do I get all the blame? Gabriel's been with me! This is what he would say even as I sat in the tree-shade and tousled Marron's pelt. But in spite of his gimmicks we had stayed friends. There was no malice, no mention of old scores. I've always been the more organized and methodical one, and August acknowledged that. He just adored his quips, that's all. Naturally, with age and experience they'd become few and far between, but they still remain a definite staple of his personality."

-|{T}|-

This whole incident just kept getting stranger and stranger, but in a way that Trevor actually enjoyed. He liked seeing this version of Dracul, laughing and smiling and speaking of his youth. This, _this_ is what he had wanted in a father.

He didn't really recognize the name Marron – a pet, from the sound of it, a dog if he recalled Augustus's stories correctly – but the tale of the pair of squires and their antics was enough to break through the misgivings the boy had.

Without even thinking of it, Trevor smiled, letting out an amused huff. "You make yourself sound like Adrian, always trying to keep your friends from doing something silly." Granted, most of the silly things Trevor and Grant got up to had the potential to end in injury, but it was hardly likely. Really. They were careful! For the most part.

-|{D}|-

"To some extent." The elder nodded, his son's grin not escaping him. "But, unlike your friend, I've had it a bit easier as August knew when it was unwise to cross the line. Our mentors and instructors were patient and diligent, but strict and hard-to-please at the same time."

Dracul fell silent, eyes closed, and meditated. "Come, give your legs a rest, Trevor," he said after a few seconds, motioning to the bench. "So, what do you think? I must say, I am curious of your mastery with the combat cross myself. What moves have you learned thus far? Are you familiar with the primary direct combo? Or any aerial strikes?"

-|{T}|-

"We knew where all the lines were," Trevor replied coolly, "we just knew how to get away with crossing them, too." And this was truth – for the most part. Though, perhaps the Brotherhood had been _lenient_ with the little Belmont, since he was their trump card, their greatest weapon.

The smile faltered at the offer to sit, and the boy looked away. This was still a vampire, and in truth, Trevor still believed there was an interrogation heading his way. Sitting there would effectively ruin any chance of a quick departure.

Plus, if the boy was entirely honest with himself, that bench didn't look like it would hold much more weight. It had been rotting here for what, eleven years now? No, he'd rather stand, thanks much.

"I've been sitting since I got here," he answered, shrugging, "so my legs aren't tired at all. And- I can do the direct combo, and the area one, but I have trouble knocking my targets into the air."

-|{D}|-

The vampire canted his head to the side, solemn. "The trick is to aim your attack from below the target then take an advancing leap. The impact of the blow will in all probability render your foe comatose, and will allow you to draw out the combo further as you see fit. Just remember that the even feeblest of your enemies will not remain unconscious for long, and they _will _riposte with a counterattack if you're not prepared. Of course, if you're accomplished enough, you could try countering the counterattack to tip the balance in your favor. To be honest, 'tis my preferred tactic. It requires a lot of practice, but it pays off in the end."

Dracul glanced over the derelict interior of the cottage and smirked. "Do you mind displaying your prowess when we get back?" He climbed to his feet. "At any rate, this is the time for us to leave. We have to get back and make sure the Castle's still there."

-|{T}|-

"I could do that," the boy murmured. Did he want to train with his father? Yes. No. He didn't know. He was getting tired of that conclusion. He needed to pick one, or the other, and stick by it – he never liked indecision before, so why was he indulging in it so much now?

How terribly vexing. _Pick one,_ he told himself, but he could not reach a solid choice. Why was he dithering? It was only his future, and that of his friends, on the line.

He moved to leave the cottage – he figured he'd wait outside – but paused for a moment.

"Can we go back to see mother? I… I would like a moment alone with her." He wouldn't speak as much as he had planned, but he still had something he wished to say to her – and sitting before her grave was the closest he could come to feeling like she was there, listening to his words. Surely his father wouldn't mind a few moments?

-|{D}|-

"Of course. I wouldn't rob you of your moment with her. I… I want to bid my farewell as well. Don't know if I'd ever get another chance to visit her again."

And so several minutes later, the pair exited the moss-draped cottage. The walk back to the grave was short and uneventful – he had made sure it would be. Unlike his son, he didn't look back.

Dracul glanced at his quiet son, eyebrows high. "Go ahead. You wanted for a personal moment with her. I will not hold you," he said, a wistful smile on his lips.

-|{T}|-

The boy slipped forward, coming to stand before the grave. For a moment all was silent, and he simply listened to the sounds of nature around him. Pausing to gather his thoughts, Trevor took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Hello, Mother. I don't have very long today. I'm sorry about the argument earlier, I wish that hadn't happened."

Another pause, and then, "Father finally came home, Mother. But everything… it's all so different than what I had imagined. Did you- did you know what was going to happen to him, Mother? Is that why you hid me from him? How could you bear it? I can't- I can't imagine the pain that must have brought you."

"I- Mother, I don't know what to do. It- everything's just- I can't tell if he's being honest or not. One moment he is kind, and another he is cruel. Which is he really, Mother? I cannot tell."

He sniffled at this point, sleeve coming up to wipe at his nose, and tilted his head up to look at the sky. "What would you do, Mother? Would you stay with him, or would you fight? I don't– I'm not strong enough to turn him away from all the pain. What would you do? You'd be able to help him, wouldn't you? You knew him better than anyone."

Small shoulders shook with the force of his emotions, but he kept himself steady, even as his eyes slipped shut. A breeze danced through his hair, and he could almost pretend it was gentle fingers combing through his messy locks, assuring him that everything would be alright in the end. He wanted to think that's how his mother would respond.

"I- I don't know if I'm making the right choices. I– are there any right choices here? I cannot see. Every time one's put before me, I feel like all of the options are terrible. I'm scared… what if something awful happens? I couldn't bear it…"

Bright eyes opened once more, and the boy's gaze fell back on the flowers he had scattered before Marie's grave. "I… W-will you forgive me, if I mess up? I'm- I'm going to try my best, but I'm- I'm really scared. You'll… you'll still forgive me, even if I do something terrible, right? You'll still love me, no matter what happens, won't you? I wish you could tell me."

His shoulders slumped for a moment, and he let out a sigh. "I should probably go, Mother. I don't think he wants to stay here for much longer. I- I don't know if it will be safe to come back any time soon, either. But… I still love you, Mother. That will never change. And- I want to love Father, too. I- it's so hard, but I'll try my best, alright? That… you'd be proud of me for trying, wouldn't you?"

Trevor let that final question hang in the air for a moment, before he turned to walk away. After a few steps, he paused to glance over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Mother."

And so the little Belmont came to stand by Dracul once more, and he turned up to face the man. "Are you going to spend a moment with her, or are we leaving?" He didn't really know how to present that question tactfully, so he opted to be blunt. There was no point in dancing around the subject, really, not over something so important to the both of them.

-|{D}|-

The boy's words made Dracul startle, and his brows drew closer. Are you going to spend a moment with her? Could there be any other response? He would not walk away. She was a star, glowing bright. A candle-flame in his bleak world. Giving a slow, stiff nod, the former knight walked up to the grave, gauntlet-clad hands hovering close to his chest.

An empty clack rang in his ears, and seconds later, he realized. He had collapsed to his knees, hunched and clutching at his head. A muffled noise of distress parted his lips. "M-Marie," he forced through clenched teeth, silent tears welling up from behind his pressed together eyelids. "I… I'm sorry. So, so, sorry. I wasn't strong enough, I couldn't protect you. Couldn't safeguard you. I had allowed for this to pass, I wasn't there to save you… from myself. My failure… an error that I cannot correct."

He raised his head and glowered into the midday sky. "You had conspired against me, God. You had scrawled this damn prophecy. Played us all for fools! We are pawns in Your game of chess! This is a ruse, a _product_ of Your own perverted judgement! You had taken _everything_ from m–" he broke off, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "But… I've countered Your little scheme, deceiver. Nothing, neither You, nor Your angelic cohorts, nor the spawn of Your infernal favorite will ever steal _him_ away. They will lay their greedy hands on him only when I draw my last breath." A wicked smirk quirked the corner of the vampire's mouth.

"Marie." Dracul set his hand on the burial's soil, voice once more vocal and steady. "My promise to you: I will not repeat my mistake. I willguard and support our son with my life. I will see to that. Don't worry, everything will be fine. I– I thank you for gifting me so. You had given me a reason to be." He rose to his feet, crossing himself – not out of courtesy for the powers to be, but because_ she _would wish for it, – and strode back, biting the inside of hos cheek.

-|{T}|-

He watched as his father approached the grave, blinking as the man collapsed to his knees, reaching out a hand- and then the boy turned away. He had given the boy a moment of privacy with his mother, it was only fair that he gave her husband the same courtesy.

And so he was treated to the sound of quiet murmurs, a voice that formed no words–

–until the Dragon began to shout and curse God, which took the boy by surprise. He'd know the hate was there – he'd seen and heard enough to notice – but he had not expected this here, of all places. Making a startled noise, he turned about, but by the time he might have said something, Dracul was whispering once more, voice low and soft. So Trevor turned back around and busied himself keeping watch – someone might have heard that little tirade, and he didn't want to deal with any more unexpected encounters. His grandmother was enough. What happened to her? His father must've schooed her away.

The voice behind him rose once more, and the boy couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, bright eyes watching the vampire's back curiously. He didn't know what to make of what he heard – he was the Dragon's reason to be? How… he didn't even have a word to describe how conflicted that made him feel.

Ah, the man was done and had returned to the boy's side. Trevor said nothing – there wasn't really anything to say, and he didn't want to let on about how much he'd heard – as they began to walk away. The horse was waiting for them, whinnying impatiently.

Still, he remembered his promise to his mother – that he would at the very least try to reach for his father. Dare he?

Well, there was no better time than the present.

And with a deep breath, Trevor mustered his courage and brought a small hand up. He hesitated for but a moment, and then his hand slipped into his father's, squeezing tentatively, like he didn't know how this action would be received.

-|{D}|-

Something hot and gentle slipped into his lax grasp, and the vampire gasped. Glancing down to see what had been in his hand, Dracul's breath hitched for a second time.

Trevor's fingers were intertwined with his own_. _A grasp.

The elder stared at it, eyes as wide as saucers, before taking in the child's distressed face. "T-Trevor…?" he managed blurt out.

-|{T}|-

The startled reaction startled Trevor in turn, and he was less dignified about it. Tensing up, his grip tightened on instinct, even as he yelped.

He stared up at his father, eyes about as wide as Dracul's, and then promptly turned away, completely flustered. He stumbled over words, trying in vain to find a coherent explanation for this sudden action, but in truth, he didn't really have one. "U-um, I–I just…I was hoping–"

Seeing that he was getting nowhere, he abandoned that attempt at conversation, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and turned to glance back up at his father. "Have I… Have I done something wrong?"

-|{D}|-

A tentative smile twitched the elder's mouth and his fingers curled around the boy's, sending a delightful shiver up his spine. "No, you have done nothing wrong," he said, and his grin grew wider. 'Twas such an odd sensation, to have a child's hand in his own. "Nothing at all."

He chose to walk some distance with Trevor's hand in one and the horse's reins in the other.


	13. Chapter 9: Demur

**A/N: Apologies if this chapter feels a bit rushed; I really, really, really wanted to post it before I go on my no-laptop 3-week (emergency) trip. **

**Also, I know it'll sound a bit, well, strange, but please understand. This fanfic is a _huge_ project, but I'm determined to finish it, no matter what it takes. That being said, I've been under a lot of pressure lately, from my parents, from university, and from the would-be employers. Trying to focus on fic writing has been difficult. Sigh. So, if you could, I dunno, donate a few bucks to help me ****weather this storm, I'd be most thankful. ^^ Money's been tight 'cuz I made some dumbass mistakes this spring/summer. Click my profile and go to any of the external links like DeviantArt or Tumblr. You'll find a Ko-Fi button there. Even $3 will mean a lot to me, thank you! I'll be sure to give something in return when I come back. :D**

* * *

_Year of Our Lord, 26th of October 1058. Bernhard's Castle, Castle Grounds_

-|{D}|-

The drawbridge crashed down before them with an earsplitting thump, yet the vampire did not mind it. In spite of its architecture, its uninviting vaults, and hordes of monsters meandering about, he felt at home. The cottage. It might have been built from scratch, but a decade of neglect had left its mark. Now, naught but a shade remained, superseded by the numerous spires, towers, and steeples of Bernhard's Castle.

Yet something was amiss.

Dracul looked about and scraped a hand through his hair. "Can you return to the Guest House by yourself, Trevor?" The vampire lord gazed at his son. "I feel as though I'm needed elsewhere. I'll stable the horse." He gestured to the closest spiral staircase. "Take this stairway. It should take to the Overlook Tower in no time. I will come to visit you and your friends as soon as I can. Take care until then."

He stared at the scrap of land near a boulder. That unnamed girl's grave, was it not? The one August killed more than a month ago? Dracul neared and stumbled mid-stride.

It was desecrated.

-|{T}|-

Trevor was struck by the sudden realization of how _vast_ this castle was. He had seen it sprawled out below him from the towers he and his friends now called home, but now, standing at the entrance and staring up at the great expanse, he wondered how anyone could find their way around such a colossal structure.

Well, at least he would have plenty of places to explore to keep himself occupied in his free-time. Assuming he was ever allowed to – perhaps he ought to ask for some sort of map with the wings that were unsafe marked? Unless all of them were unsafe…

…that was the more likely truth. Drat.

He gazed at the stairwell, frowning in uncertainty. That was going to take him all the way up to the towers in no time? How unlikely. He could see the tower – at least, what he thought was the tower – from here, and it was well into the great castle. It would take him far more than an hour to walk that distance – so how was he to be back in time to warn his friends?

Dracul was gone before he could pose the question, however, and Trevor just huffed and began his hike. One step, two, ten, twenty… He lost count at about one-hundred-and-fifty-seven, and he lost his sense of direction at the ninth spiral or so. Up, up, up… and then not a spiral anymore. The staircase laid out before him was still ascending, certainly, but not straight up. Trevor stopped, completely baffled, and made a face. "What an unwelcoming place this is. How does he stand living here?" Peering out the nearest window, the boy was shocked to find just how far inside the castle he actually was. The outer walls were quite the distance away – no, that _couldn't_ be right. He had been walking, and he knew, roughly, how long it should have taken him to reach that sort of distance. And yet, his eyes didn't seem to be deceiving him.

"What in God's name."

The boy shuddered, then, for something suddenly seemed _wrong_, though he could not spy anything different. Somehow he got the sense that _something _was laughing at him.

He ran the rest of the way to the towers.

He was panting by the time he came to the door, though he managed to catch his breath before stepping inside. Sure enough, the others were there – he spied Hector quietly instructing Grant and Sypha on the sharpening of the daggers that Dracul had provided (Sypha had insisted on stealing one of them, not that anyone had bothered protesting), while Adrian was helping Julia read through a rather thick tome, and Isaac tended to his spear.

Rosaly was the one to notice Trevor's return, and she smiled up at him from her own book, voice gentle and warm. "Welcome back! Did your trip go well?"

"Yes, it did."

"No trouble? Not even a patrol?" Adrian calmly flicked his eyes up to meet his friend's, tone cautious.

"There were a few patrols, but nothing came of them."

"Did you see any of our parents?!" Julia cried, and suddenly the silence became overbearing.

Trevor had to grit his teeth. He felt guilty, that he had a father now while they all had been robbed of theirs. It wasn't _fair_ – and while life was generally not fair, he still couldn't help but feel terrible for gaining from his friends' loss.

In truth, the lot of them knew they weren't escaping within the foreseeable future, if ever – and really, they had given up the hope, for the most part. Still, Trevor had been the first allowed to set foot outside the small portion of the castle they had been confined to – and the only one to see anything of the outside world. The rest of them didn't even know if their families were even alive.

Such a terrible thing, to not know one way or another. In truth, the little Belmont had known that feeling all too well, before Dracul had made his abrupt appearance into the boy's life.

He shook his head, continence apologetic. "I'm sorry, Julia."

The young Laforeze seemed disheartened by the news, and everything went quiet, until–

"You saw the fortress, yes?" Isaac's voice and gaze were sharp as he spoke.

"Wha- yes. I did, but only from a distance."

"Was it still standing? There was no damage to the walls?"

"No, it was the same as it always has been," confusion fell away to comprehension, and Trevor continued, "as was the town. I could see smoke rising and folk coming and going, just like always. In fact, it seemed even more crowded than usual."

Isaac nodded, a faint smile crossing his features as Trevor played along. "Well then. Our families are fine."

"Are you certain, brother?" Julia stared at her sibling with wide, hopeful eyes.

Adrian snorted on a laugh, a hand coming up to pat the young girl on the shoulder. "Isaac is right. Nothing attacked the townsfolk that night, aye?"

"No, all was calm," Sypha noted, "the fires didn't even reach that far. Perhaps a few would have had trouble from the smoke, but even that wouldn't have been terrible."

Nodding, Adrian continued, "So, nothing attacked them, and the fortress stands still – that means that folk there must still be alive and well."

There was a shriek of joy from Julia at the thought, and she embraced Adrian. And just like that the tension fell away. Trevor flopped on his own bed – his legs were tired after running so far, even if he could have _sworn _he'd only run a tenth of the distance he should have – and, after a moment, drew his cross from his bedside table. Ah, he needed to oil the chain again.

"There's another thing," the little Belmont stated, even as he reached for the cloth to care for his weapon, "well, another two things, actually. He says we're to start lessons – proper ones, this time, with him and Ser Augustus as our teachers."

"Lessons? Like back home?" Grant nearly dropped his dagger at the news – which earned him a light cuff to the ear from Hector.

"Wait. You're telling me that that dragon is going to teach us? You've a poor taste in jokes, Belmont!"

"I'm not joking! That's what he said."

The other seven all exchanged looks, shrugging and generally murmuring in confusion. On one hand, it was something to _do_, something productive that would only help them in the long run. On the other, it was _completely_ unexpected – especially considering their captor – host? – was going to teach them himself. None of them knew what to make of it all. Which made Trevor feel better, really, because he didn't know what to make of any of it either.

Trevor's faint smile built. "And then there's Drahoslav, and evidently he is going to teach us magic. I believe Julia knows him."

"Aye-aye! Ser Drahoslav was my tutor!" Julia was bouncing now. Adrian, meanwhile, was forced to deal with the joy of being her springboard.

"Drahoslav. He was with Ser Valeriy, wasn't he?" Hector mused. "Is he really staying, Trevor?"

"Dracul _did_ mentioned that, yes."

"But if he was a scholar for the Brotherhood, why would he still be here?" Adrian spoke, managing to gently pry Julia off of him and sit up once more.

"The man always did have that odd obsession with dragons," Isaac noted with a snort, "and doom. It was never one without the other. I wouldn't put it past the man to come running here when news of the dragon spread."

"Is-_aac!_"

"What? It's the _truth_, Julia, don't try to deny it!"

"Are we sure we want to trust someone like that with our lessons? It sounds as if he has no thought for his own survival." Sypha pulled a face as she spoke, even as Hector reached to correct her angle with the whetstone.

"Aye, chasing a dragon is a foolish thing," the silver squire acknowledged. "But he seems to have made a deal with one, as well, and that's no laughing matter."

"Though he reallyis quite eccentric," Rosaly chimed in, and looked shocked when others stared at her. "What? There were plenty of times I had to go find books about herbs and remedies. Of course I've met the man. He frequented the Radiant Heart libraries."

"But I don' get it. The Dragon. Why's he suddenly decided to teach us _now?_ Why not earlier?" Grant was almost pouting with the thought, even as he eyed the edge of his dagger with a rather adorable frown.

"He said he was busy, and, ah-" Trevor trailed off awkwardly, hand coming up to scratch at the nape of his neck.

"What? Trevor, what's wrong?" Of course, since it was Sypha asking, Trevor couldn't _not_ answer.

"Um, well, you know how I said I spoke to him the other day? I actually might have… shouted at him a little."

"You _shouted_ at the Dragon_?!_" Isaac was near shouting himself, expression gobsmacked. He knew Trevor was brave, often foolishly so, but to shout at Dracul himself? That was something else entirely.

"Well, um, I wasn't really shouting, but I did snarl a bit, and-"

"Trevor Belmont, you great fool, are youtrying to get yourself hurt?!" Poor Adrian had nearly fallen off his seat at the news, even as his gold eyes bored holes into his younger friend's skull. "You know what he can do when he's angry!"

"But he didn't get angry! Actually-" Trevor's head tilted, and his hands spread out in a hapless gesture to express his complete bewilderment with what had happened, "he got really quiet and sad. And then he apologized. A lot."

"Apologized for what, exactly?" Rosaly had set her book down and was staring. Actually all of the others were staring at Trevor by this point. Sure, Dracul had a lot to apologize to them all for, but none of them had imagined the vampire would actually _do _it.

"Everything, really. And then he swore not to do any of it again."

Silence. Complete and utter stupefied silence.

Dracul had not only not gotten angry for being shouted – apologies, snarled – at, but he had admitted his mistakes, apologized, sworn not to repeat them – and now he was taking special interest in their education and even offering to facilitate their learning himself. The implications were astounding.

"Trev." Grant then leaned forward and fixed his friend with the most serious look the orphan had probably ever worn in his life. "You've got to shout at him more of'en."

Which earned him another cuff on the ear from Hector, even as the rest of them burst into laughter.

-|{D}|-

He flexed his arm, allowing for the red ropes to wrap his frame and rupture in the all-too familiar attire. Much better and more snug, too. The armor had been chafing against his skin for over an hour now. Perhaps now he could get some work done-

Or not. The tramp of feet betrayed Augustus long before he popped up from turning a sharp corner. Upon spotting the vampire lord, the soldier slowed down and pressed his hand to the scar near his heart. A knapsack was on his back. The chime of glass rattled through it. "Oh, thank the Lord, you're here! Drac, we- I have a situation!"

Dracul drew a deep breath breath the nose and rolled his eyes. No surprise there. "Aye, August? What's the matter? Is it Valeriy?"

"No no no, it's something, well, _someone_ else." He pulled at the collar of his shirt; all of August's clothes were tailored to fit his atypical, mutilated figure. "It'd be best if I showed you. Follow me."

The two vampires walked – ran? – through the corridors. Dracul could not understand the reason behind his friend's brisk, bouncy tread, but played along. Augustus was leading him to his quarters near the Chromatic Observatory: an accommodating but simple bedroom. Even in death Augustus valued simplicity. And, mimicking the older vampire, refused to sleep in a coffin.

They trekked, but wouldn't speak; the normally chatty soldier was now as silent as the grave.

Eventually, Dracul got tired of it. He had to get it off his chest. "You know," he began, "seeing the Radiant Heart again made me realize a few things."

"Huh?" August startled. "What d'you mean?"

"The Brotherhood is not going to stop sending these rescue parties. The Elders know Trevor's destined to defeat me, and they'd sacrifice thousands to get him back."

The soldier shoved his hands into his pockets. "What do you expect me to say? I won't fight the Brotherhood."

Dracul twisted his mouth into something between a smile and a grimace. "Frankly speaking, I was expecting a different response. That axe-wielding mercenary had attacked and had very nearly crippled you, August."

"So? You decapitated the guy – let it be." He frowned. "Don't look daggers at me, buddy. You know the story. If not for a Brotherhood inquisitor's intervention, I would not be here. No offense, but lemme parrot you here: I do not forget when someone does me a kindness. That man... he saved a stupid kid's life. And he serves the Cross still."

The older vampire stopped and cocked his head. "You've grown a backbone," he said with a knowing squint.

Augustus marched on. "Call it whatever you like." He looked back to him.

"You'll change your mind after you see just how degraded and corrupt the Brotherhood is. I know I did."

His friend's expression pinched. "It's not about good and evil, Drac. It is about personal code. A personal moral code. And the fact that you ain't got one anymore don't mean others have to follow your example."

"And what about the girl you'd killed?"

Augustus opened his mouth, then stopped short. His response wouldn't matter – they'd arrived at their destination. Shaking his head, the soldier gave the door to his quarters a gentle push. A foul musty smell of rotten leaves filled the air, and Dracul winced. Curious and disconcerted, he peeked after Augustus. The windows were curtained, muddy footprints were scattered across the hardwood floor, and a bucket of dark, oily water stood nearby. Many towels – some damp, some dry – were stacked near the bed. But above all else, that bed was occupied. A woman was sleeping, tucked in blankets like an infant.

"Hush!" said Augustus in a soft, lisping voice. "Don't wake her. Not right now."

"Who-" the elder stammered. He saw the shoulder-length red locks – now smudged with streaks of dirt – spread across the pillow. He inched toward her. She snuffled in her sleep. "How? She's supposed to be dead."

"I dunno." August swallowed. "I found her like this earlier today, and she had burns all over her body. Y'know, sunlight burns. I... I couldn't just leave her!"

"Are you trying to say," Dracul hazarded a guess, "that someone dug her up?"

"Nope. I'm trying to say that she might've dug _herself _up."

"What? Jesus."

"Savvied she's my responsibility. I took her here, tried cleaning some of the gunk." His friend set his knapsack down and untied the cord. "The hunchbacks were preparing the kids a meal and let me have this," he continued, uncorking a bottle with sloshing ruby-red contents. "It's rabbit."

"I... I didn't know someone could turn postmortem." Dracul rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah, me neither. Poor girl; she must'a spent several days getting out of that pit." August took a swig of blood as if it was liquor. "I thought you could... could t-talk to her."

"Me? Why?"

"Please?" The soldier's shoulders curled over his chest.

The pained stare he was leveling at him won the older vampire over. "Erm, I'll try. But come along; as her sire, you should be present." He pushed up a chair and sat down. "Rabbit's fine. Would not want to expose a fledgling to human quite so soon."

"Duly noted. Still, blood's blood." August breathed in and brought the opened bottled to the woman's nose.

Reaction followed. The girl's eyes fluttered open, and she sucked in a sharp breath, almost coughing on it. Bits of powdered dirt hit the elder the face. The redhead propped herself up on one elbow, warm burgundy gaze flitting from one object to the next. Eventually it fixated on Dracul. They played staring contest for a few heartbeats.

"More vampires," she said, voice flat and brittle. She gave a dejected sigh.

The Dragon's eyebrows pulled down. "It's all right, we're not going to hurt you."

"Here, lass, this'll help." Augustus proffered the bottle.

"Is that... is that blood?" Her chin began to tremble. "So t-that wasn't a dr-dream."

Dracul shook his head. "Alas, no. You're in Bernhard's Castle, and you're a vampire just like us. We didn't know that up until now, that's why you were laid to rest not far from here."

"I- I remember suffocating, maggots and worms creeping all over me. It felt... so weird. Augh, my head hurts. Am I a vampire? I can feel it, this change, within me, but- but my... my ma! I have to go back, have to hand over the medicine! She won't make it without it!" she squeaked. "How long have I been dead?"

"Over a month."

"Over a month? No. No no no!" Her shoulders quaked, and a smothered sob escaped her. A moment, and she was biting the lip with her pearly-white, catlike fangs. The tears that ran down her freckled cheeks were clear – not bloodied as Dracul came to expect.

"Do you know how to lull a woman?" he quietly asked August.

"No idea, Jossie ne'er cried. Not around me, at least. Still, we oughtta give her some space, I think." He closed his eyes. "Or offer kind words."

Nodding, he scooted closer to the bed. "There, there. We know what you went through. You're not alone."

She sniveled and looked back at him. Then, her eyes widened. "I, I know you," she gasped, "you- you were the hero who had saved us from that demon! The Queen's lieutenant!"

Dracul blinked. Carmilla had had only one lieutenant and one commander. "Brauner? You're from Wygol?"

"Originally. After that raid my parents moved to Cordova," she spoke in a bubbly tone. "I was in the crowd when my friend's uncle volunteered to show you the path into the Lady's Castle, and- and-" Her voice dropped. "Oh. So this is what happened to you. I thought you died." She returned to her hunched posture. "That's what they had told us."

"It'd be best if you did not bring this up ever again." He leaned back in his chair. "It is an unwritten rule."

"What? Why?"

"Oh, he can be rather cranky when he is reminded of those two weeks in particular," Augustus chiseled in before the elder could get a say.

"Very well." The girl inclined her head and addressed Dracul, "And yet may I ask you a question?"

"Fine, let's hear it."

"Did you by any chance see a boy on your travels back then? About eight, nine-years-old, humbly dressed? He had been asked to inform you of the vampires' presence in Wygol. Please. That boy was Emil, my brother. I need to know."

The older vampire frowned. "One found us after we were done with Abbot Dorin."

"We?" Augustus echoed.

"Aye," Dracul answered with forced restraint. "The Lord of the Dead and I had just confiscated the Abbot's relic. We were on our way to the Castle, when we saw a young boy stumbling toward us. He told us that I had to detour or Brauner would ground Wygol to dust." His jaw clenched. "So I left the boy in Zobek's care."

The soldier gave a low, unconvinced whistle. "You've neglected to mention that one. Couldn't find a sitter, could you?"

"Quit wisecracking, August."

"Apologies, tried lightening the mood. Lass, I'm sorry." The fledgling's bloodshot gaze turned mournful. "Brother or no, the fellow's dead. Zobek was the most immoral of the Lords of Shadow; he'd have no qualms about murdering a child."

"Is," Dracul muttered under his breath. "Is the most immoral."

"What? _Is?_ Didn't you kill him?"

"Not quite. The Necromancer escaped, and I had to fend off Lucifer. I'm convinced the rat's still alive somewhere, scheming." He took a gander at his friend. "Why, August. Are you about to tell me that you are _afraid_ the old coot?" the Dragon said with a smug quirk to his mouth.

"Afraid of Zobek in particular? No. Afraid of what Zobek might pull off? Yes." Augustus grimaced. "Let's not forget that he'd brainwashed you. We must be ready for anything really."

"You're right." The elder vampire gave a slow, rueful grin. "Please accept our... _my _condolences. If I had known of the Dark Lord's true intent, I would have made an effort to save your brother." He tilted his head from side to side. "Do not misunderstand, but... you're taking this remarkably well, m'lady. Being turned into undead, that is."

"For thirteen years I've lived in Wygol. For thirteen years me and my family had to contend with the Dark Lady's forces. I guess, I got used to it." The girl took a sip. A scowl flicked across her features. "A commoner like myself is either turned into a vampire or vampire food."

Augustus stuffed his hands into his pockets. "So, what are you gonna do now?"

Suddenly, there were tears welling up in the woman's eyes and a loud sob came up her throat.

"Bah, that was the single most insensitive thing you could've told her," Dracul chastised his friend. "There, there, you'll be alright. We'll show you around, make you feel right at home." He offered her the handkerchief he had swiped mere seconds ago. "Have you a name?"

"I'm- I'm s-sorry." She held the hankie to her nose. "I j-just need a minute to get my bearings. I've long accepted that E-Emil's dead, but to have proof... And now this. It's hard." She blinked rapidly. "And... yes, it's Clara. Clara Vianu."

"Clara then, nice to meet you. This would-be motley fool is Augustus Cresces, and I'm Dracul. You're welcome to stay. Should you desire to, of course."

Clara offered them a watery smile. "I'm- I'm a vampire. I got nowhere e-else to go."

"All right," Augustus said, "holler if you need anything. Anything at all." He gave his sire a furtive gander. "Now, Drac, might I have a word with you?"

The vampire lord got up. "I'd summon our resident diviner to have a look at you, but, hng, he's human. Just like my consumed-by-wanderlust charges. Hence, I would ask you not leave these quarters for the time being. Can't risk you going berserk." He stared the soldier squarely in the eye. "I'm sure Augustus won't object."

The redhead nodded.

"Good. Take care."

"Wait," she called, tone hushed, "was it- was it you who razed Wygol two years ago? The town criers spoke of a monster mantled in rags-"

His mouth quirked in a close-lipped smile. "Aye, 'twas me."

Clara swallowed. "But why? You're God's Savior, you... you had delivered us from evil, from the Dark Lady's tyranny. And now-"

"For the same reason I am now demanding you do not stray. If you're not careful, undeath will turn you into a brainless beast," he answered, shrugging. "Lead on, August."

The soldier scurried into the hallway – the elder could only trail behind.

"She's an odd one. Did you notice she did not mention that I'd sired her?" Augustus rocked in place. "Think she doesn't remember it?"

"It's a possibility; this blood changes everyone differently." Dracul folded his arms across the chest. "But I would not hold my breath. She might be feigning it." He grinned. "Come now, loosen up. The girl's mother would've died either way, and you've learned how to turn mortals. Who knows, your familiar may yet become an asset to this community. She might even help you cope with... loneliness."

"Funny," the younger vampire sneered. "My heart belongs to Jossie, and you know it."

"Aye, that reminds me. I'll have to comply with her desires, too, when you – eventually – bring her here."

"Sure. Whatever you say, chief." He ran his hand across the horn-like outgrowth on his skull. "I better get moving. Talk to you later."

* * *

_Later that day. Bernhard's Castle, City of the Damned. Holding Cells_

The crumbly earth crunched underneath Dracul's boots as he meandered towards the City's holding cells. These vaults, hollowed out in the foothill of a mountain range, provided all the necessary housing he needed. For convicts, for cattle, for wishful usurpers, and for those who were not of sound mind. That gossip with regard to his foster-father he overheard sometime ago buzzed in his mind. The vampire quickened his step. Almost two full months had galloped by since the fateful accident. 'Twas enough time for Valeriy to recover and grow accustomed to this new existence. Hopefully.

He glared when a young girl in a brownish frock came before him. "S-s-sorry if I bothered you, my Prince," Stheno, the eldest of the Gorgons and the current warden, wheezed. "But I am glad to have found you." She bobbed a curtsy to him.

"How is Valeriy?" Dracul asked.

"The commander?" Stheno smoothed her lank hair. "He is s-s-stable."

"What can you tell me of the rumor concerning him?"

Her gaze darted. "The rumor is true. The commander is... uncompromising. He picks fights. Harasses us. The other week he crumpled and tore a tinware cup. S-sliced his wrists with the s-sharp part. It didn't kill him. But he did attack Medusa when s-she tried to check on him. Above all else, he's refusing to drink blood. We've had to dispose of four perfectly healthy adult bodies already."

"Understood. What are our current reserves?"

Stheno wrung her neck one-eighty degrees. It gave a disgusting pop. "Twenty-nine."

"Not much," he tsked. "Perhaps an incursion is in order. To replenish our stock."

"Pleased to hear that, your Highness," a fruity female voice interjected, and a harpy touched down near them. She had blackened feathers instead of hair and wore an embossed Roman cuirass. "How are you this evening?"

"Celaeno," Dracul murmured. "Been better, I suppose."

"Then I have something that could raise your spirits. I've had my eye on this lovely, little village for quite some time now," the harpy giddily continued. "Vaseria. A merchant's haven, known for its export of silks and mohair." Celaeno fluffed up her plumage. "Wouldn't it be marvelous to... appropriate Vaserian wares, milord? Your young wards would love them. Oh, this would solve your food problem as well."

The vampire sighed. "Very well. Get Blackblood and tell him to come find me in plus-minus thirty minutes. We will plan our assault."

"I shall do my utmost." She took flight, cawing.

"S-she's far more helpful than her reckless s-s-sister," Stheno observed.

" 'Twas Celaeno who persuaded her kin to lay down their weapons and bow to me. I wouldn't expect anything less from her. At any rate, I've other matters to attend to. Where are you holding Valeriy?"

The Gorgon gestured to the north-eastern section of the cells. "There. Block C."

"And your siblings...?"

"Euryale and Medusa are watching over the Frenchman." Her colorless eyes narrowed. "Do you wish for me to accompany you, my Prince?"

He shook his head. "No. You are dismissed. Return to your duties."

* * *

The heavy iron hatch swung open, and an army of wisps permeated the shadow of the cell. An emaciated male figure could be seen slumped against the wall. He was cloaked in green rags, barefooted. Clawmarks – fresh, bleeding sluggishly – patterned his flesh and the gray, greasy hair hid his face. With a startled whimper, the commander crawled away from the light, from the drifting embers. Upon reaching the far corner of the cell, he curled up in a shivering ball. Quiet sobs wracked his body.

Dracul traversed the distance between himself and the man in three wide strides and knelt. "Easy, Valeriy, it's me," he said. "Calm down. It's fine."

From up-close, Valeriy looked... not necessarily bad. No scarring, no wings. But sallow complexion and bags underneath the teary, swollen eyes. Claws tipped his fingers, bitten and rotted. The elder vampire felt his insides churn – paradoxically. Carmilla's corrupt blood might have passed the knight-commander by, but it hurt to see his beloved foster-father like this, nevertheless.

"What do you want." Valeriy rolled on to his back and gave Dracul a glazed stare.

"Valeriy." The Dragon smoothed the crusader's hair. "I worry about you. I'd heard through the grapevine that you refuse to feed."

His lips crooked in a fake smile. "I was this close. I was granted passage through St. Peter's gates. And then you pulled me away. You shoved me into this body." He clasped his hands on his belly.

"Father, I understand." Dracul sat down. "I have felt like this myself for over eight years. But, I swear, this pain will go away."

Valeriy squinted. "I thought I taught you not to lie, Gabriel."

"I- What?"

"You've given me no reason to believe anything you say. You murdered my comrades, laid waste to Wygol, abducted your own son, and waged war against the Brotherhood. The same Brotherhood that had taken you in. Beyond all question, were she alive, the Vampire Queen would be overjoyed to see you follow in her footsteps."

"But... But I'm telling you the truth!"

"You're a viper, Gabriel. You were one of the few who had mastered Shadow Magic, who had resisted its evil influence. And you embraced this curse the moment you were infected." Valeriy frowned. "A Sanctuary spell is all a soldier needs to purge himself of the symptoms and avoid this fate. I am disappointed. You were given too much power, and it has corrupted you."

"But I- I saved this world... I had to-"

"You think me a fool? Your desire to subjugate humankind befouls the air we breathe. Bite down on that forked tongue of yours and leave me alone, boy." The knight-commander curled up in a fetal position. "Death beckons. I can feel it in my bones."

The other vampire got up. "No, father! You will feed and you will see. I'm not lying."

"I killed a girl. There's innocent blood on my hands," his foster-father muttered. "Vampirism endows one with immortality, but I can cut this eternity short." His chest hitched. "Yet, how could you? After I was appointed your guardian, I offered naught but love and support, and you... doomed me. Without any hesitation."

The Dragon gave a halfhearted shrug. "I want a family. Something to fight for, someone to nurture and protect. And I am using the tools – power – I were given."

"You-" The knight-commander's voice quaked. "The Gabriel I fostered is caring, compassionate, ready to assist those in need. He is not the unfeeling abomination that now stands before me."

"We change, Valeriy. I did, Augustus did, so will Trevor. So will you."

The man scrabbled to his feet. Spit built up in the corners of his mouth. "Change, is it? So be it then! My foster-son died eleven years ago, battling the spawn of the Lords of Shadow. He died a hero. I've nothing more to say to you, cur."

"Valeriy, I- Don't do this."

"Begone from my sight, bastard!" he hissed. "I'll not have you taint his memory."

Dracul averted his gaze. "As you wish," he said after a long pause, voice small. "I won't bother you further. Yet, if you won't feed and live for me, then do it for Trevor."

The Brotherhood knight-commander Valeriy Alajos flinched.

* * *

_Later that evening. Bernhard's Castle, Guest House_

The screeching of hinges cracked through his hazy mind, and Dracul stumbled.

Drahoslav grabbed the vampire by the forearm, steadying him. For such a scraggy old man, Slava sure had a strong grip. "Dracul, are you well?" The diviner cocked his bald head to the side. "You seem pensive. What is troubling you?"

"I've a bit of a headache," he answered. The slight tremble in his limbs filled him with disquiet. "I spoke with Valeriy just now and- Ah, never mind. It'll pass. In any case, I do not want to burden you with my problems."

Slava pursed his lips. "Shall we continue?"

He sucked in a deep breath and pushed the guest house door open. "Good evening," he announced, feigning elation. "I've someone special I want to introduce you to, although I'm sure some of you had met him already. Drahoslav's going to stay with us for a while."

"Julia! Grant!" The churchman sprang past the vampire. "Thank God, you're all right! When I last saw you–"

-|{T}|-

"Ser Drahoslav!"Julia's joy was immutable, and she leaped from her spot next to Adrian and barreled into the aged scholar, gripping his robes in a tight hug. Sure enough, the man was warm, a sign that he lived still. The discovery only made the young girl happier, and she wept. "I thought I'd never see again... I've missed you! Are you really going to teach us?"

"Julia, calm down and let the man answer." Rosaly gave the cleric a smile of her own. "It is good to see you, ser. Have you been well?" She got a funny look from Grant, to which she replied, "Ah, he has been tutoring me on the side, but I'm afraid I've not much talent in the arcane arts."

"Pfeh. So it is the old man after all."

"_Isaac!_ Be nice!"

The redhead turned away from his sister's accusing glare, scowling a bit, before turning back and giving Drahoslav a stiff nod. "I guess it is nice to see a familiar face."

-|{D}|-

The chatter made Dracul's feel queasy.

Hugging himself, he shambled over to the lit fireplace and took a seat in one of the chairs that were nearby. Fleeting concentration, and his eldritch blue blade jumped into his hands.

-|{T}|-

Trevor watched the reunion silently, gauging what sort of person this librarian was. After all, he didn't have the time to make up his mind when he first bumped into the man. Elderly, but certainly not unfriendly – wait.

He made a noise of shock as something blue winked into existence, and he turned to find Dracul, slumped in a chair and clutching a great blue broadsword. He tensed on instinct – he only vaguely recalled the weapon, but it still brought back bad memories – until he realized that the Dragon seemed… completely oblivious to the world around him.

Still, most of the others had noticed – only Julia remained oblivious, concerned as she was with Drahoslav. Adrian and Hector had both begun to reach for their own swords, while Isaac's grip on his spear became white-knuckled. Grant stared at Trevor with wide eyes from where he hid behind Sypha and Hector both.

Well. There was no point in just leaving things as they were, and Trevor was tired of standing by and just letting things happen regardless. He waved the others off, and pushed himself to his feet. When Adrian signaled for him to come back, the little Belmont replied with a shrug and a lopsided smile – his way of silently assuring Adrian that he knew he could get away with whatever fool idea he was pursuing this time.

The blond squire pinched the bridge of his nose, evidently suppressing a groan of annoyance and worry.

Trevor crept around the Brotherhood scholar and his student, until he came to stand next to Dracul. Sure enough, there was no response – were it not for the shallow rise and fall of the vampire's chest, Trevor would have thought he was looking at a corpse in true.

…An unpleasant thought, one that got shoved to the back of his mind. Instead he pondered how best to approach the problem. He could throw something, or lightly slap the man, but both would likely be interpreted as an attack, and with that blade in hand… bah. How troublesome.

Frowning, the boy laid a small hand over the one that held the blade, thinking that if some sort of counterattack did come of it, it would at least allow him to push the weapon away enough for the Dragon to realize who was disturbing him.

The cold of the blade made him wince. "If you're tired," he whispered, "you should go rest."

-|{D}|-

The vampire winced. Evidently, his act had not been gone unnoticed by the children. He let out a long, low sigh and rubbed at his brow. The blade's emptiness had dampened his headache, yet nausea had him in its grip still.

"Thank you." He gave a weak smile. "I apologize if I frightened any of you. I just, well, ran into some… bitter complications. And this sword," his grip around the runic blade tightened, "it contains my nightmares, makes them less potent. It is its magic."

He threw his head back. "It's Valeriy. He disowned me."

-|{T}|-

Trevor listened to the explanation, face unreadable. A sword that contains nightmares? What did the Dragon do, hold it while he slept? Surely a charm or something would work better. The others continued to give Dracul wary glances, but left it well enough alone; they knew better than to start prodding an unhappy dragon.

The news made the boy tense ever so slightly, cringing a bit at the bitter memories. After what Dracul had done to the man, Trevor couldn't blame Valeriy for disowning him. The boy _still_ didn't know why he was being so forgiving after all the horrors this vampire had put him through. Was it a sense of familial loyalty, or a loss of hope, or something else entirely? He didn't know. He needed to figure it out soon, or he would be lost.

Lost._ S_omething clicked in the back of the boy's mind.

He mulled over the information he had been given, trying to figure out what to do. He didn't want to ask the others for advice – it would only hurt them more – and he didn't want to speak his initial thoughts out loud, for what would that do to help anyone?

Why couldn't there ever be a good choice to make?

The vampire's pained expression made his frown deepen, and he murmured, "That's not the whole of it, is it?" There was something more, something he wasn't being told. Was his father afraid of causing him more pain? Bah! He could handle it. He had handled much worse.

-|{D}|-

"No." His weapon evaporated in a bright blue flare, and he held his head. "He is refusing to feed. And it's been well over a month. At this rate, he is going to starve himself to death, and I– I don't know. I feel so powerless, but I cannot let this happen. I cannot let him further endure this staggering pain."

He swallowed. "Trevor, do me a favor. Father, Valeriy... he's upset with me and won't believe a word I say. But he'll listen to you. Could you persuade him to... stay? I know it's dangerous, but I've no other options. I can give you nothing but my gratitude. If you don't succeed– " His voice cracked. "I'll be thankful, nonetheless."

He set his hand on the child's shoulder. "Thank you in advance."

-|{T}|-

An odd look settled over the boy's face, his eyes sharp and his mouth in a razor-thin line. It almost seemed as if he were passing some sort of judgement, in that moment.

And, in truth, he was. Dracul could not allow Valeriy to die? Yet, he did not seem willing to force blood down the man's throat – which the boy knew he could do, if he wished – and instead pleaded for his son to speak with the man.

Well. That cemented the belief that Gabriel still lurked beneath the Dragon's scales. If that was the case… then Trevor would allow himself to be as selfish as the man in front of him.

In truth, he did not want to see his foster-grandfather wither away into nothing, either. "I will see him," the boy muttered, "though, it… it would probably be best if I did it alone. Can that be arranged?"

-|{D}|-

"Aye, I will send August to fetch him." His grasp around the boy's shoulder stiffened. "Just be careful. Valeriy might be delirious and there's a possibility he will not recognize you. Or, worse, he could see you as an enemy. Pray it would not come to that."


End file.
